Just A Dream
by IoliteofEchoriath
Summary: Maedhros and Maglor find themselves thrown back to a time long past. Their innocence gone, the brothers struggle against fate while living in a world so different from the dark and cruel one which they had grown to know. Rated T just to be safe. No slash pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note and disclaimer: Hello! I am brand new to this fandom, having just picked up the Silmarillion on a whim two weeks ago. And I fell in love with it so fast, I just had to write. I don't own anything, and there are bound to be mistakes, especially when it comes to accent marks on names. Speaking of names, this is set mostly in the Years of the Trees so Quenya names are used as follows:**

 _Maedhros: Maitimo (Nelyo); Maglor: Makalaurë (Kano); Celegorm: Tyelkormo (Turko); Caranthir: Carnistir (Moryo); Curufin: Curufinwë (Curvo); Amrod: Pityafinwë (Pityo); Amras: Telufinwë (Telvo) (both twins may be Ambarussa in the plural); Fëanor: Fëanáro; Fingolfin: Nolofinwë; Fingon: Findekáno ; Finarfin: Arafinwë_

 **Italics means a language other than Quenya, usually Sindarin. It is also my headcanon that near the end of the First Age Maitimo and Makalaurë spoke mostly in Sindarin. So in the very beginning I use their Sindarin names. Enjoy.**

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The Silmaril burned in his hand without mercy, and Maedhros knew in that moment that it was the end. It was finally over. He didn't realize that he was crying until he looked through tear-blurred eyes and saw the red streaked sky, the sun setting on his wasted life. As his last hand blistered, he felt the bounds of the oath release his strangled heart, leaving deep scars of sorrow in its still beating form. But it was too late. The Noldor had fallen. And he was no longer Maitimo, the one of beautiful bodily form. He was no longer the one who would read stories to his little brothers at night, scaring them with tales of monsters and heroes. No, he was the monster now. Scarred and deformed, a wretched villain. Kinslayer. That was what the oath had reduced him too.

And there was no hope in that setting sun. For who would ever love him? Who could ever forgive him, if he could not even begin to forgive himself? In that moment he hugged the Silmaril to his chest, the light within it burning with all the promise of a lost life. Of what could have been, but could now never be. And taking one last look at that dying sun, Maitimo began to run towards an open crevice in the ground. He leapt, one hand hold the Silmaril, his auburn hair trailing him, alight in the flames that surrounded him.

" _Maedhros! No! You idiot!_ "

A voice. A deep, melodious, tear-choked voice interrupted his final peaceful moments. It was followed by the sound of rock fall. As the flames consumed him and he fell ever down, Maitimo looked up and saw a body fall in after him. It was then that he felt his wounded heart at long last rip in two as he knew Makalaurë would die with him here, in this dark crevice in the forgotten parts of the world.

But death did not come as he continued to fall for minutes it seemed. And Maitimo wondered if his punishment was to fall forever. Fear gripped him suddenly, and he thought of the Void. It could not be! For if he was truly damned to everlasting darkness after all that was sacrificed in order to fulfill that oath even on to the end, then every death, every bit of forfeited honor and happiness, was all truly for naught. He felt righteous fury rise in his chest and opened his eyes to see…. his bed?…. rising towards him at tremendous speeds.

And not just any bed, Maitimo dumbly realized. It was his bed from when he still lived in Valinor in Tirion, before Formenos. In fact from this height, he could see his entire room. Maitimo felt his fall become slower, as if some force was working against him. Even so, he still collided with the mattress hard enough to make him bounce a few times. Maitimo groaned as he found himself lying amongst his various pillows. He put his hands behind him to prop his upper body up and stilled in shock when he felt his right hand supporting him. Before he could fully process what was happening, a body fell across his stomach with great force, and he crashed back onto the mattress, with a groan.

He risked a glance down to see Makalaurë lying across him, his head hanging off one side of the bed and his legs the other. What the? Maitimo sighed and put his head back down, suddenly feeling very tired. When a loud voice rang out, one which sounded like a thousand waterfalls with its great depth: "I created the firstborn to be free. And I have grieved long, watching you, Maitimo, and you, Makalaurë, be enslaved to an oath sworn in a moment of great emotion. But in your heart of hearts, you never embraced the darkness, did you? Even when you committed the unthinkable, you felt every blow of your sword as one made on your own spirit." The voice stopped and chuckled. "I guess what I am saying is I like you, Maitimo, and I like you, Makalaurë, and your plight has moved me. I have rewound the hands of time to give you a second chance. Welcome back the the Age of the Trees." The voice paused and then in after thought said, "Don't tell the Valar.":

The Voice was gone, and Maitimo felt as if he was waking up from a dream. He became aware of a light spring breeze flowing from his open window. Of the waxing light of Laurelin, and the happy chirping of birds outside. It was morning. And he was not dead. Morning, not dead. Morning, not dead. He repeated to himself several times. And then something clicked.

It was morning, he was not dead, and he was back in time in his room in Tirion, not Formenos. That meant that Finwë was still alive, the Oath not yet taken, the Curse of Mandos not yet given. None of the great battles had been fought. Maitimo's mind was racing as he brought his very real right hand before his eyes. Morgoth had not yet hung him from Thandorogrim. Fingon had not cut off his hand. Wait, Fingon was alive! For Nirnaeth Arnoediad never occurred! This meant his brothers…. his brothers were all alive and well! Their minds not twisted by the oath, their hearts not haunted by all they had seen and done in Beleriand!

" _Maglor!_ " Maitimo cried, pulling his knees up in his excitement, and jostling his brother. Hope and pure joy overflowing in his grey eyes. " _Wake up! Brother! We live! We are back in Tirion. Look, my hand!"_ At that Makalaurë slowly rolled over into his back, still lying across his brother, and as sat up, he finally opened his eyes to stare Maitimo's unscarred, and very much there right hand. He took it into his own hands and gripped it tight, looking around the room in wonder, for he had not opened his eyes on the descent and had not yet taken in his surroundings.

Suddenly tears filled his eyes. " _Oh Maedhros, I thought it was, I thought it was, I thought the voice was only in my head. But you heard it also?_ " he finished in a hopeful whisper. " _Are we really here?_ " he asked, still not daring to believe, still gripping Maitimo's regrown hand in both of his.

Before his brother could answer a feminine voice rang through the halls, "You two boys better get down here now! Or Tyelkormo will give your breakfast to Huan!" It was Nerdanel.

Both Maitimo and Makalaurë looked at one another when they heard their mother's voice, lost hope creeping back into their hearts. Not daring to speak, for fear that words would break the spell, they leapt out of the bed, and not bothering to throw even a robe on over the leggings (which both had somehow ended up after that dreadful fall), they raced down the hall and practically fell down the stairs for all their haste. They ran into the dining room and laid eyes on their family.

Carnistir was reading a book at the table, breakfast all but ignored and pushed to the side. The twins were talking to each other, laughing over some inside joke. Curufinwë was washing his plate, looking ready to leave and start the day. And Nerdanel was guarding two other plates from a hovering Tyelkormo and Huan. All paused and looked up when the two eldest all but stampeded into the room on this peaceful morning.

It is an illusion, thought Makalaurë, it could not be real. His family could not really be here. But the looks of shock on their faces as they took in his bedraggled appearance looked all too genuine. And then he decided that he didn't care if they were real or not, and neither did Maitimo apparently as both ran simultaneously to their lost family. Maitimo grabbed up their mother and Tyelkormo in a massive hug, while he snagged the twins. Carnistir looked up in alarm and tried to escape, but Makalaurë reached out and grabbed him too, while Maitimo got Curufinwë.

"What is this!" their mother laughed.

Makalaurë heard footsteps behind him, and a deep voice rang out: "Curvo, you ready to…" but Fëanáro stopped as he took in the scene. "Group hug!" he cried after a second, correctly guessing what was happening as he happily joined in the melee. Finally Makalaurë released his brothers and let them breathe.

Nerdanel was the first to recover: "Maitimo, Makalaurë! Want to explain why you are both shirtless at the dining table?" Nerdanel asked, rapping a wooden spoon against her hand.

"Oh mother," Maitimo nearly spoke in Sindarin but caught himself just in time to say it in Quenya. The happiness in his voice, however, did not need to be forced, not this time. "We just overslept and figured the best way to avoid your wrath was to remind you how much we loved you."

"And it worked! See you're grinning," Maglor added, attempting to hide behind a mask of his former self as Maitimo was doing.

"Alright you two! You get away with it this time. No more staying up late reading or composing. I won't stand for this a second time. Now go and make yourself presentable!" Moments later and Maitimo stood before his wardrobe full of fine garments and robes. His mind was racing. Was this all really happening? He ran his right hand down a long elegant robe, the luxurious fabric falling through his fingers. He had not worn clothes like these in decades. Footsteps approached, and he turned to find Makalaurë dressed in blue and silver riding clothes.

" _Is this a dream, Lord Brother?" I swear I saw them down there. Hale and happy, and so very much themselves,_ " Makalaurë said in whispered Sindarin.

Maitimo at last picked a pair of faint yellow breeches and shirt with a red outer tunic complete with gold embroidery, " _If it is, don't wake me. Not yet. Let us pretend to be happy just a little while longer."_

" _And if it is not?_

" _If it is not, then I promise you that I will do what I can, within morals,"_ Maitimo quickly added, " _to ensure that damnable oath is never uttered."_

" _As will I…. within morals. But I will not suffer to see them tormented again."_

" _Come, Maglor. Let us enjoy this dream a little while longer."_

At last both of them walked downstairs back to the dining room. Everyone except Nerdanel had left. "Well your food is long cold by now, but I managed to save it from Telykormo and that hound of his."

"Thank you, mother," Maitimo said as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, forcing his voice to be playful when he really felt like collapsing with tears of relief and buried grief. Nerdanel playfully slapped his arm in response. The two brothers grabbed their plates and sat heavily at the table.

"So what is everyone's plan for today?" Makalaurë asked, also feigning normalcy. But inside his heart beating way too fast as it had been all morning.

"Well Curvo and your father are working in the forge as they always are. The twins and Telykormo just left on a hunt. And Carnistir, well Carnistir never said. He's probably practicing calligraphy or reading in the library. And I am heading up to work on that sculpture for Eärwen. Don't make too much of a mess."

Makalaurë made himself nod as he took another bite out of his eggs and watched his mother leave. He wondered then what her life had been like after all seven of her sons had departed with her husband for Arman, on ships stolen from kin slaughtered by their own swords. Maitimo seemed to guess what he was thinking.

"She will never have to bear that burden again. We will make sure of it."

Makalaurë sighed. "What will you do? Go back to reading your lore? That used to be normal for you. But I doubt I can sing right now."

Maitimo laughed quietly, "No, I feel as if those stories will hit too close to home."

Makalaurë understood. His brother was locking away his emotions to be dealt with when it was more convenient; he was trying to pretend that everything was alright. Reading of heroic deeds and dark forces would bring to the forefront of the mind all they had endured. And it would force him to reflect, to process, and grapple with it all….yes, Makalaurë well understood why his brother wanted to postpone such thoughts. It was the same with him. He had no desire to touch a harp or lyre for fear that his broken soul would play itself across the strings for all to see.

"Let's see if we can catch up with the hunt. A long ride will do us both good."

An few hours later and both reborn brothers were galloping through the forests of Valinor. Both of them had calmed down as they slowly came to terms with what had happened to them. Maitimo was now reasonably sure that his heart was no longer going to pound out of his chest. But as he relaxed into the ride, he noticed how he saw things that he never noticed the first time around in Valinor. Before, he would ride in Aman heedless of any danger, for there was none. But now he was constantly aware of his surroundings. He noticed when a canary landed on a distant branch, when a fox slunk behind a bush, or when the shadows shifted.

" _Valinor seems different, Kano."_

" _Aye, you notice more after spending all those years in Ossiriand. And you notice the beauty most of all."_

Makalaurë was right. The beauty of Valinor, he had never really appreciated it before it was lost to him all those years ago. But the trees here wore crowns of emerald, and the golden light of Laurelin filtered through their branches to where it danced on the forest floor, the soft mosses and damp dirt enjoying her caress. The sky, seen through gaps in the trees, was a blue so deep and gentle that it was both comforting and breathtaking to behold.

" _Somebody is throwing caution to the wind. Woe be to them if anyone were to say, sneak up on them_." Makalaurë said after a few moments of silence, nodding to the very obvious smoke rising from a very obvious fire that could only belong to their brothers. Maitimo smiled.

" _I think it is well within our rights to teach our little brothers to have more discretion when starting a fire_ ," he replied, feeling mischievousness arise in his spirit for the first time in ages.

With that the two slowed to a trot, carefully making their way through the forest. When they were close to hearing range, they dismounted, telling their horses to stay for a while. Makalaurë looked at the trees and sighed, "I used to laugh at the Moriquendi and their love of tree climbing. And here I am, back in the blessed realm, a son of the crown prince, and what is the first thing I do?"

"Frighten your mother by appearing as a shirtless savage in the kitchen?"

Makalaurë gently punched his brother for that response. "That was a rhetorical question," he grumbled. Maitimo only smiled as he scaled the tall oak after him. Seconds later and they were swiftly jumping through the branches. Dusk and the mixing of the lights was approaching, making it easier for the two to blend in with the surrounding branches. As they neared the campfire, both slowed down, and they stealthily creeped through the trees right above their kinsmen's heads.

"I say we simply sleep beside them," Maitimo said gesturing to the forest floor. "Since to startle them would be the second time in a day that we have acted in an uncouth manner."

"Wholly unacceptable," Makalaurë agreed. So the two, quiet as the night, leapt out of the trees. Huan shifted, but a quiet word from Makalaurë convinced him to go back to sleep, and the two layed down beside their brothers. Maitimo lied on his back and glanced at the stars. He heard the trees rustle in the wind and the fire crackle nearby, he ear becoming attuned again to the sounds of the forest. It felt good to be back. It felt good to be free again, to be mischievous and exchange banter with his brothers. He almost dared to believe that today had been the most perfect day of his life.

He sighed in contentment and then rolled, trying to find a more comfortable position on the forest floor. It was a mistake. For on turning over, he saw Telvo's back, when suddenly the image of the youngest twin lying dead on the beaches of the Sirion assaulted his mind. Maitimo squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden image, and quickly rolled back over. He looked at the stars, but at once they looked just like the stars he saw all those centuries in Arda. The cold, distant stars that mocked him as he hung by his broken wrist all those years. Those stars that laughed as he searched in the cold for Dior's twin sons not terribly long ago. He shuddered.

Makalaurë saw him from where he lay on his other side. " _When we were running through the trees, a part of me forgot, you know? For a moment, it was all just a bad dream. Nothing more. But it wasn't just a dream."_

" _No,_ " Maitimo responded. " _It was over five hundred years."_ Sleep never did come that night to either of them. Maglor layed looking at the sky, his thoughts lost to tragedies past, silent tears falling from his eyes. Maitimo simply closed his eyes and sang quietly to himself songs of lament. He was only interrupted by soft hoof beats on the forest floor as their elven horses approached the campground. Quietly he got up and took their gear off, whispering them praises for finding them, even if their brothers made it rather obvious. He saw that they were content beside the other horses before lying back down again to pass another restless night.

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 **TBC.**

 **Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy New Year! To celebrate here is an early update.**

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At long last the lights mixed again. And Maitimo thought of the surprise that would be on his brothers' face when they saw him here. The thought helped to cheer him slightly, and he did what he did best: namely shoving any emotions behind impregnable mental walls. He knew that Makalaurë would do the same. After all, having some fun with their brothers may help them heal. Then he let his eyes glaze over, feigning sleep.

True to his name, it was not five minutes after the lights began to mix, casting the world in solar hues of silver and gold, when Tyelkormo woke up. He didn't roll over though, he just stayed on his side, facing the forest, and thinking of the day. Today Ambarussa hoped to track down the wild boar and bring it back for dinner. But Tyelkormo thought he might delay them a little bit. He loved the wild, that was true, but if he were perfectly honest with himself, he was never that keen on hunting.

At that thought, he lazily rolled over onto his other side to stare straight into Makalaurë's glazed eyes not six inches away from his own. Much to his horror, he let loose a startled yelp that was curiously high pitched.

The elf responsible for his undignified exclamation blinked and smiled at him. "Got you, Turko."

Tyelkormo got on his feet, warily glancing at his two eldest brothers lying between him and twins. They were most definitely not supposed to be here. How did they even find them? Makalaurë and Maitimo weren't exactly the most wilderness inclined, and he knew their tracking skills needed work. He ran a hand through his blonde hair and sighed in exasperation.

"How did you get here? Why did I not hear you? And what in Valinor are you two doing here?"

Makalaurë rolled onto his back and smiled up at his flustered brother, "We rode here. You sleep like the dead. And Maitimo and I decided we wanted to spend some quality time with our younger brothers."

Just then Telvo awoke, saw Maitimo's tall form, startled, rolled around, and head butted Pityo in the process. Pityo promptly punched his twin in the stomach.

"Gah, if your going to punch someone, punch Nelyo," Telufinwë groaned.

"Nelyo's here?"

"I'm here, sleepy head." At that name Pityafinwë got up and lunged for the eldest. Maitimo rolled out of the way, and jumped to his feet. "I'm sorry Pityo, but you couldn't catch a sloth with speed like that."

"Lucky for me you are far slower than any slowth, especially in the morning," Pityo taunted, and Maitimo quickly ran to the cover of the trees as the older twin gave chase. He sprinted to the first sturdy branch, grabbing it with both hands before pulling his body over it. Within seconds he was a good ten feet off the ground.

"You're lucky you are so tall, brother," Pityo called up from the ground. Maitimo laughed as he reclined back on the branch, copper hair shifting with his movement.

"Sure, blame your incompetence on your stunted form."

The others laughed as other redhead fumed. "He wins," Makalaurë noted placing a hand on Pityafinwë's shoulder.

"Why are you two even here?"

Makalaurë clutched his chest. "You wound me brother. We just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Yeah right," Tyelkormo replied. "If you want to make yourself useful, help me saddle up the horses."

Within an hour, all the gear was packed and the four horses ready to go. They rode in relative silence when Telvo noticed the cluster of spears Maitimo had on his back. "No bow?" he asked gesturing to the spears.

Maitimo almost winced but managed to laugh it off, "No, I decided to try something new today."

"You'll never be able to hit anything with a spear. I don't really believe they are that effective as long distance weapons, regardless of what your lore says," Tyelkormo noted, turning his head slightly to give his brother a teasing grin.

"You see brother, that is where you are wrong. And you'll know it when I am the one who brings down the boar," Maitimo replied in his honest, straightforward way.

"I bet you a bottle of fine wine that you are wrong."

"Your loss," the eldest shrugged. They fell into silence again, Tyelkormo taking the lead, with Huan trotting faithfully by his side. The twins came next, followed by the two reborn brothers who were falling slightly behind.

Maitimo watched as a blue jay landed on one of the nearby branches and chirped at Turko, who inclined his head as if he were listening. Turko's grey horse snorted then and their brother laughed softly, his voice clear and untainted by the rage that had consumed him in Beleriand. "The animals still love him," he whispered.

Makalaurë gave a half smile, "Yes, they do," he replied remembering when the birds and beasts of the land would no longer approach his blonde brother. That was when Tyelkormo had broken completely, and unable to bear it any longer, he had given in to anger and rage. Makalaurë tried to imagine if the Oath had likewise taken his voice, and he shuddered at the thought. Something told him he did not want to know. Suddenly he heard a slight rustle in the leaves right before Huan barked, alerting the rest.

Without pausing to think, Makalaurë notched an arrow, bent his bow, and fired with practiced speed. Out of his peripheral vision he saw Maitimo throw a spear, his reaction also almost instantaneous. Tyelkormo and the twins for their part were slower to react stopping to look around first. Suddenly there was a squeal, and Huan took off with his tail wagging behind him. They came upon the boar they had been tracking, dead with an arrow in its flank and a spear in its chest. Huan sat beside it, panting happily.

Tyelkormo and Ambarussa turned slowly to stare at their two brothers in wonder and no small amount of shock. These two were among the worst hunters of the House of Finwë. Makalaurë just smiled innocently, and Maitimo held their stare with one of his own. "I believe, lord brother, you owe me a bottle of fine wine," he said at last.

"Hold on there," Tyelkormo said, dismounting and walking towards the boar to inspect. "How do we know it wasn't Makalaurë's arrow that killed it?"

"Because it was Makalaurë's arrow."

At that insult the dark haired singer elbowed Maitimo solidly in the ribs. Maitimo groan and put a protective arm at his side, "What, it's true! You're a minstrel who spends all his time outdoors singing."

Tyelkormo grinned and shook his head in wonder, "And you spend all your time reading lore. Have you ever even thrown a spear before? I say, you just got lucky."

"I have been remarkably lucky as of late, haven't I? Maybe fate has finally decided to be kind to me. It would be a first." Turko raised an eyebrow, but didn't inquire any further.

It was late that evening when the group returned from the hunt and gave the boar to the kitchens to prepare for tomorrow's dinner. His brothers all retired to their rooms while Tyelkormo finished putting his tack away. He walked up to his own chambers and sat heavily on the bed, Huan plodding beside him. " _Tall-brother and brother-with-voice seem different?"_ Huan asked in the language of the hounds. Tyelkormo looked at his hound's blue eyes.

"Well they seem overly cheery. Maybe Sermë and Kano got together?"

Huan quirked his head. " _No sadder. More sad."_ Huan disagreed. " _Cried brother-with-voice did at night. And shut his eyes to the stars, tall-brother did. They pretend."_

"What do you mean Kano cried? And Nelyo loves the stars." Telykormo stated, taken aback.

" _And more dangerous too. Much more dangerous. Saw the boar exactly when I did. How?"_ The last word sounding like a low howl, as the wolfhound looked at his master expectantly.

Tyelkormo sighed, "I don't know, Huan. Maybe if you are worried, I will check on them tonight. But first I would like a bath and to wash my hair. I am afraid there is dirt all over it," he frowned fiddling one of his braids.

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Maglor was at the moment also enjoying a hot bath, the likes of which he had not had in ages. His leaned his head back against the ornate tub and sighed. It had been three days since had held that burning Simril. Three days since the nightmare had ended. Not long at all, but still those five centuries were beginning to fade ever so slightly as he settled into the normalcy of life in Tirion. Maybe laughter truly was the best medicine.

He had to be more careful though. He wasn't exactly known as a hunter, and he feared Turko was now slightly suspicious, not that he could ever guess the truth. Maitimo should also be more cautious about doing everything with his left hand. Had Ambarussa or Turko seen him throw that spear with his left, there would have been serious questions along with the teasing. But why bother hiding the truth from them anyway? Were they protecting them? Surely telling his family that they were all kinslayers would not be the kindest thing to do. Maybe they were protecting themselves? No, Maglor reasoned, he had no desire to protect his heart any longer, it deserved every punishment. Or was he simply afraid that his plight would be laughed at when the others did not believe? Yes that was it. Makalaurë could handle their wrath and anger, the name calling and the hateful looks, but he did not think he could handle blank stares and laughter telling him that he spoke only jest. For those years were real. His decision to leave Maedhros to thralldom in Angband had been real, the dragon fire that he faced in the north had been real, Doriath, Sirion, all of it had been real.

He closed his eyes as the familiar pain returned in force, and he saw young Elrond come up to him and ask for a song. In a soft, quiet voice Maglor compiled, and he sang quietly as the water caressed his chest and played with his hair.

* * *

Maitimo had also considered a bath, but decided that he couldn't trust himself with the silence and solitude. He had yet to visit his father, and he knew that he would have to face Fëanáro at some point if he were to stop history from repeating, which he was bound and determined to do. He pulled his long hair back with a bronze clasp and shrugged on an older blue shirt and blacks pants, not wanting to ruin his nice riding gear in the dirt and grime of the his father's smithy. He glanced at his right hand again and smiled. It had yet to get old. He would never again take for granted what it was like having two hands.

He walked out into the peaceful night, following the narrow road to the clearing with the forge where his father spent most of days. He hesitated at the heavy door. Ever since Angband, he hated forges as they drudged up dark memories. But at last he opened it and walked into the stifling heat, though Maitimo thought, it really wasn't bad at all compared to the pits of Angband or even some of the Dwarven smithies he had visited. He approached his father, who at the moment seemed so different from the High King who had lead the Noldor into exile. Here he was just Fëanor, absorbed in his passion for making things and inventing, his lean body bent over what appeared to be a necklace.

"Greetings father, we have returned from our hunt." Fëanáro stood up and glanced at his eldest.

"Just in time! Look at the necklace that I have made forEldalótë." Maitimo looked at the piece made out of white sapphire and emerald; it was indeed very beautiful. He was about to compliment his father, when Fëanáro sped off. Too much energy Maitimo sighed, shaking his head. While he waited for his father to return, he glanced around the smithy, noting the organized chaos of the place. He smiled, it was good to be home. Fëanáro then returned with an engraved box and a smile that at once seemed too big.

A terrible sense of foreboding at once befell Maitimo, and he cursed himself for not realizing exactly _when_ he and Makalaurë ended up in Valinor. He had thought that they had still had a while yet. "...my most prized creation, a work of my hands that I shall never again achieve" his father was saying, but Maitimo could barely hear him over the audible pounding of his heart, "...working for months….hallowed…light of….want it to be a surprise." And then Fëanáro opened the box to reveal three gems of unparalleled light and beauty laying on red velvet, an eight-pointed star embroidered in silver on the lid of the box.

Blackness enfolded Maitimo's vision and he fell to one knee as images unnumbered bombarded him. The swearing of the Oath, the burning of the ships, those three gems encased in fell Morgoth's crown as the orcs held him fast, hacking off his long hair before handing it to the Dark Lord, auburn tresses alight in the splendor of those very jewels. He saw Tyelkormo bleeding out in Doriath, arrow upon arrow embedded in his fair brother's back. There was his own hand, blistering just three days ago as he held one of those selfsame gems.

Fëanáro looked down at his son in shock. "Nelyaf…" he began, but he was cut off when Maitimo looked up at him, fire in his silver eyes.

"You know not what torment those jewels will bring. Destroy them. Cast them into the sea. Give them to the Valar. Just get them away from my house and family," his son's voice was strong and commanding, tinted with pain and anger. Fëanáro was disconcerted, for Maitimo was at heart a gentle soul, rarely did he raise his voice, and never did he speak in such low, dangerous wrathful tones. It reminded him of the Valar.

"The Valar have gotten to you, my son. They use you as a mouthpiece. You do not understand what you say, for they are not your words. They are the words of jealous Manwë or Oromë or another of the Valar. For they cannot believe that an elf has created something to rival their very works."

Maitimo stood up, and stared at his father, anger still burning in his eyes. "I know exactly what I speak of, father, and don't you dare tell me otherwise." With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the forge.

* * *

Tyelkormo walked quietly down the halls, dressed in only a light robe along with sleeping clothes. He hair was damp and down, slicked back out of his face. He would really rather be in bed right now, but Huan was restless. His hound kept on insisting that something was grievously wrong with his two oldest brothers. But those two had always been a bit strange, had they not? He had tried telling Huan that, but the wolfhound would not listen. At last, Tyelkormo agreed to check on his brothers, if only so that Huan would sleep, and he could enjoy a peaceful night in his own bed after camping the previous two nights.

Suddenly he saw Maitimo all but storm into Makalaurë's room at the other end of the hallway. He only got a brief glimpse, but he looked disheveled and furious. Curiosity creeped upon Turko, and he crept down towards the door that Maitimo had just gone through and slammed behind him.

"He has done it!" Maitimo's angry voice came easily through the wall. Tyelkormo cringed. It was not at all easy to make Maitimo angry. He normally took everything in stride and always forgave everyone, even when they least deserved it. There was a long pause and then he heard Makalaurë's hesitant voice.

"You are going to have to be a bit more specific," he heard Makalaurë say pointedly.

"Father has crafted the Silmarils."

"What are you doing?" a different voice asked from directly behind him. Tyelkormo looked up from where he was crouching beside the door to see Curufinwë looking at him quizzingly.

"Oh just a little eavesdropping. Nelyo stomped into Kano's room, and I was curious to see what had befallen the two of them. But it seems as if our brother's rage is directed towards Dad."

Curvo raised an eyebrow and gestured for his brother to move aside so that he could listen in also. However, their two older brothers were now speaking in low tones, indiscernible through the thick palace walls. Tyelkormo sighed and leaned back on the balls of his feet. "Apparently Maitimo is furious because father has created the Silmarils? Whatever those may be."

Curufinwë looked confused but nodded. "Yes, he completed them just the other day. They are three jewels of unmatched beauty. They shine like molten starlight, and father says they contain the divine light of the trees. Indeed, I was filled with wonder and awe when I first laid eyes on them. How Nelyo could feel anger is beyond me. Why would he scorn something so majestic, so clearly inspired, and made by our own father no less? Perhaps you misheard."

"No, I heard clearly. Huan believes something is wrong with our two brothers. He claimed Kano cried the other night."

Curufinwë just stared at his brother. "I am not Eru. I do not have the answers. Maybe we are simply reading too much into it. Go to bed, before they catch you listening at the door," Curufinwë said as he gently tapped his brothers shoulder as he stood up and made his way to his own chambers. Tyelkormo watched him go and was about to follow, when he decided against it. He stood up and knocked on the door in front of him.

"Come in," Makalaurë's voice answered after a few moments. He walked in and stared at his brother's ashen face. Makalaurë was wearing nothing but a towel, clearly just coming from a bath. His hair was soaked, and his skin was ashen. Worse, he was pacing. Maitimo for his part was lying on Makalaurë's bed, his red hair splayed out behind him as he stared into space. Tyelkormo took a minute to take in the scene. Maitimo and Makalaurë were normally the most dignified of his brothers, and seeing them so obviously unhinged would have been comical if it weren't slightly frightening.

"Is everything alright?" he finally asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, Turko. Go to bed," Maitimo's voice came from the bed.

Tyelkormo inclined his head. "In case you have forgotten, I am not an elfling that can ordered off the bed. Furthermore, elf princes do not pace," he said, with a pointed looked at Kano. "They especially do not pace with sopping wet hair, wearing only a towel. Everything is clearly not alright."

Makalaurë sighed and stopped his restless pacing to stare out the window. Maitimo finally spoke up. "I am worried about father."

"Why, because he made three beautiful jewels? Curvo told me about them," he replied when Makalaurë gave him a look. "You should be proud that he can create gems as precious as those of even Aulë."

"It is pride that I am worried about." When Tyelkormo just looked at him in confusion. Maitimo sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "I had a vision of sorts," he continued. "In them father's pride became so great, and he loved those gems so greatly that he was willing to destroy this family in order to keep them in his possession."

"I don't believe that." Tyelkormo retorted at once. "Father would never. He loves us all greatly. Something is messing with your head, Nelyo. I suggest you snap out of it before you make a mistake that you regret," with that Turko turned on his heel and walked out.

 **See? I don't end with cliffhangers...yet. Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Maitimo awoke early from a restless sleep, the image of the Silmarils and of torments past haunting him through all hours of the night. The door to his balcony opened, and Makalaurë emerged, he must have spent the night out there after Tyelkormo left.

" _There is fire in your eyes, Maedhros."_

" _I am going to take them. I will not let the kinslayings happen. I will not fight on the wrong side of this coming war. I will not kill innocents. And I will not divide the firstborn to the glee of Morgoth!"_

" _Father will have your head."_

" _Oh he will have yours too. We can scare off intruders at the front gates,"_ he joked. Makalaurë only winced at the dark humor.

" _I never said that I was going to steal them with you. I thought this doom of us perpetually trying to possess those damned jewels was over."_

" _So you will go with me to Doriath, to Sirion, but will not go to father's smithy with me? When it can save thousands?"_

" _What will you do with them?"_

" _Give them to Manwë so that he can use them if the power of the trees is ever broken again."_

" _And you will leave the Sindar and the race of men to suffer under Morgoth's tyranny? If Morgoth never steals the jewels, father never marches to Arda."_

" _Come on Maglor, he is the Spirit of Fire! Do you seriously think he will just sit on his ass when tales of Morgoth reach his ears? Do you think he will let King Thingol have all the glory while he lazes around in Valinor eating plums? No, he will march to Arda, Silmarils or not. But if we can just free our brothers and him from that Oath, then we can prevent the Noldo host from disintegrating!"_

Makalaurë raised his hands in defeat. " _Okay, okay we do this one last time. But nobody dies."_

" _Nobody dies. We'll go at night."_

The two brothers got dressed and descended the stairway to the main floor where they arrived in time for breakfast. They both scooped themselves some oatmeal and sat down. Carnistir and Tyelkormo were still there, the former seemingly more interested in the letter he was writing than food and the latter casting a dark glare that curiously reminded Makalaurë of the young half-elven, Elrond.

"What are you two up to today?" Makalaurë tried to ask in a pleasant manner.

"We were going to go see the Silmarils today. Father said in a half an hour should be a good time," Carnistir replied.

"Can I come with? I have yet to see them either," Makalaurë asked, only realizing after he said it that it was more or less a lie.

"I want to go as well," said Maitimo.

"Of course. But Kano, don't you have that concert this morning? I was surprised I didn't hear you practice at all last night."

"What concert…." Makalaurë asked slowly.

"The annual Song of Stars one. You've only been talking about it for the past month. Grandfather and King Ingwë are going to be there as well as Uncle Nolofinwë and Arafinwë. Some of the Valar are even coming," Curufinwë said as he entered the room, grabbing a bowl of oatmeal and sitting beside his brothers. He looked up to see that Makalaurë's face had gone white. "At least that's what you've been telling me," he hesitantly added.

Makalaurë racked his brain for distant memories and realized that there was a Song of Stars concert, in which he played several solo pieces. What they were he could not remember. And right now he had no desire to sing for a crowd. "Perchance we can move it to a later date?" he asked weakly. His brothers, all except Maitimo, stared at him in silent shock at his ridiculous request. Nelyo, for his part, at least refrained from laughing at his poor brother's plight.

"Stay here and get ready, brother. I assure you that you will see the Silmarils later. The four of us will go see father real fast and then we will get dressed and come to the concert hall to see you win over the crowd," Canister suggested while the others nodded in approval. Maglor just hit his face with the palm of his hand and sighed. He really did not want to sing for a crowd.

Fëanáro was already at the forge, hammering the blade of a sword. The crown prince grinned, he had always enjoyed the stories of the first wars of the Valar, wars that occurred before time itself began, and he had dreamed of wielding a sword like this since he was an elfling. Nobody else would have one, he thought with glee, least of all Nolofinwë. Amidst all the court, he would be the one they all envied. He might even teach his sons to fight with blades as well. It would be good to toughen them up a little bit. Save for Curufinwë, they were all rather weak. Just then there was a knock at the door, and a presence entered without waiting for permission.

The being had an otherworldly look about him. He was tall and lean, with a chiseled face. His skin pale as death, but his hair was dark with silver at the roots and it swept along his back in fine layers. He eyes were deep set and the color of amber, though with hints of crimson in them.

"What are you doing here" Fëanáro hissed.

"Oh, I am just here to admire your work that is all," Melkor declared. He spied the box containing the Silmarils sitting on the counter. "May I?" he asked but reached for it without waiting for an answer. "My, my what splendor they do possess," the fallen Valar declared, stepping back when Fëanáro slammed the lid shut. "I do believe that not even the Valar have such a treasure. They will covet it greatly. You must not let these out of your sight, regardless of what others may say."

"My eldest has already suggested that I give them to the Valar."

"So their jealousy has surfaced already? Tsk, tsk. I had thought my brother to be more patient. And less cruel. Manipulating your heir is a fell move indeed. Have you talked to him?"

"Not yet, he ran off with that disrespectful mouth of his."

Melkor nodded, "You will have to teach him a lesson," he then leaned over the elf's shoulder to take a look at the blade.

"Is that your first one?"

"Yes," Fëanáro replied, pride evident in his voice. "But I have decided I want to make some for my sons. And helms to go with them."

"May I suggest a secret forge then? The Valar will no doubt not take kindly to the forging of weapons. They will try to deny you your skill in metalworking."

"You may suggest anything, Melkor, that…."

He was interrupted when the door opened and the four brothers walked in. On seeing Melkor, Maitimo instantly froze. Memories unbidden crashed through his mind as he saw the Dark Lord of Angband and all its horror not three feet away from him. Rage burned in his grey eyes as he clenched his jaw and fisted his hands.

But against the fire of his spirit, he did not move for the hammer that hung on the wall or for any other improvised weapon. To attack the fallen Valar now, when he still wore his lies of redemption, would be seen as a crime no less grievous than attacking Manwë or attempting a kinslaying. And his brothers and father would thus try to hold him back, hindering his fight. And Morgoth himself possessed strength enough to crush his body in an instant. Simply put, he would lose and at the best be exiled, which would be extremely inconvenient. So with tremendous patience, the reborn son of Fëanor restrained himself as the being responsible for all the evil and fell things in the world stood innocently before him.

"Sons of Fëanáro!" Melkor amiably greeted them, "Come to admire the work of your father?"

"What are you doing here, brother of Manwë?" Tyelkormo asked, not bothering to disguise the hostility in his voice.

"Always the same question. Do you not realize that I am Valar? You should greet me with the same respect you do any other of my kind."

"We do not trust you," Carnistir replied.

"A pity," said Melkor, looking the brothers up and down, pausing when he came to Maitimo who stood tall and unmoving, holding the amber stare of the Dark Lord with his own. "Your brothers and father look at me with distrust and annoyance, but there is hate in your eyes," Melkor stated, lifting his chin in a questioning manner. "Your soul burns," said Melkor at last, as if it answered some question of his, and he took a step towards Maitimo, reaching as if to caress the elf's face. As fast as lightning, Maitimo shot a hand out and caught the fallen Vala's wrist.

"Don't you dare touch me," he commanded in the voice of a king, pronouncing each syllable in low tones. Melkor took his hand back and smiled, but Maitimo felt a dark presence brush against his mind, slipping through the smallest of cracks in his mental shields. But Melkor did not hurt him, and he withdrew almost immediately, but it appeared as if he had gleaned great knowledge from Maitimo nonetheless.

" _You have seen the future. And it is glorious,"_ he told Maitimo at last in Sindarin. Then he turned with a flourish and looked at the others in turn. "Keep an eye on your brother, I fear he is having bad dreams." And then the Dark Lord disguised as a fair being walked out of the smithy.

"He is as slippery as a snake," Tyelkormo sighed when he left. "Do you know what he said to you?"

"It was in a different tongue, but I think he realizes that I see through his façade," Maitimo answered carefully.

"We all do. None of the Valar are to be trusted. How you can suggest I give to them the Silmarils is beyond me," said Fëanáro, anger creeping into his voice.

"The Valar mean us no harm, that is another one of Melkor's deceptions," Maitimo replied, inwardly cringing at the name change. "He himself wants to steal them, and he will have a much easier time doing it if it is we who guard them, instead of the Valar."

"I still don't trust any of them. For they are jealous of the firstborn children of Illuvatar and our right to rule in Arda. Hence why they left that land to men."

"Those are but the lies of Melkor. There are elves still in Arda, father. You know full well that Elwë and many of his people stayed behind. And I tell you that Melkor himself has a great fortress there, from which he plans to rule as he has always been envious of his brother's throne."

"Are you getting this from your dreams, your so-called visions that Tyelkormo told me about? The same ones that no doubt showed you that the Silmarils will 'bring us torment' or something like that. Wake up, my son! Pay them no heed! I have been patient with you till now, but I warn you not to mention such things again. These are the greatest work of my hands, and I will not suffer them to be in anyone else's," Fëanáro replied firmly as he reached for the box; he then opened it so that the brilliance of the Silmarils was displayed for the brothers to see. Tyelkormo and Caranstir starred for several moments.

"You are right, father," Curufinwë said after a few seconds. "These gems of such great beauty belong to our family alone." Tyelkormo nodded, while Maitimo glared but said nothing. Caranthir had little reaction.

"Go," Fëanáro said at last. "You all should be on your way to the concert hall by now."

"Are you not coming?" asked Tyelkormo in surprise.

"Nay," he said looking at the unfinished sword with something akin to avidity in his eyes. "I have seen Makalaurë play innumerous times. But I have not yet seen this blade finished."

Maitimo glowered at him. "You would not support your son. But you would work on a sword meant to maim and kill, a weapon that has no use here," he said in disbelief.

"You are treading on thin ice, boy! First you ask me to give up the Silmarils, then you dare to correct me, and now you reprimand me." Fëanáro snapped. "Leave before I decide this blade is finished enough to challenge you. See how your wits defend you then!" He threatened his eldest, madness creeping into his eyes.

Carnistir firmly took Maitimo's arm, pulling him back slightly, "Come, lord brother. We are all a little tense right now. A walk and then a concert will do us good."

Maitimo gave his father one last look of disgust before allowing Carnistir to lead him out.

"He believes that the Valar are messing with my mind, but insanity is beginning to lurk in his own," he told Carnistir.

"Yes," his brother answered. "But that means his threats are not to be taken lightly, especially since none of us have ever handled a blade. I am sure he will calm down in a little while. The visit from Melkor simply has him worked up."

A few hours later and Maitimo and his brothers were dressed in their finest. Layered robes of fine cloth and circlets that glistened in the light of the trees. As they walked through Tirion, there was a general atmosphere of cheerful happiness in the air, though Maitimo was feeling none of it. He was brooding, so lost in this thoughts that he failed to notice Findekáno walk up beside him, gold plaited in some of his braids as always and a crown of silver on his brow.

"What are you plotting, cousin?" he asked, teasing in his voice.

"Findekáno!" Maitimo declared, as he was jostled out of thoughts. "It is good to see you." He declared happy to see his friend alive again. He reached over and pulled him into a hug. Findekáno accepted the embrace, though he was surprised.

"I see, Nelyo. But, you haven't answered my question." Findekáno pointed out, as he withdrew from the hug.

Maitimo massaged the back of his neck. "Ah, you see, you don't want to know."

The son of Nolofinwë laughed, "Try me."

"Very well. But you must not betray us."

Findekáno, still thinking that his cousin spoke in jest, smiled. He did a half bow towards his friend while still walking, "I pledge myself to you, my lord."

Maitimo sighed and lowered his voice. "Kano and I are going to take three jewels from my father's forge tonight."

"Oh, and who is thy special lady friend?" Maitimo gave his cousin a look.

"That's all I am saying for now. If you tell a soul, I will personally see you off to Mandos." He didn't feel like trying to explain his motives by citing "visions" when that went over so well with Turko.

"Alright, I surrender. Where should I meet you?"

Maitimo looked at his cousin in confusion, was he always this young? Just how much did crossing the ice change him? "Not this time, Findekáno. Makalaurë and I are going to get ourselves into some serious trouble, and I will not drag you down with us."

His cousin raised an eyebrow, but let the matter drop. "Well, he better play the concert of his life then."

"About that…" Maitimo began. "Well, let's just say that this is going to be interesting."

"What, you doubt your brother's voice?"

"Oh no, I doubt that the crowd will be able to handle it."

Makaluarë had never been nervous to sing before. He had no idea what songs he was supposed to sing, so he would have to improvise. But his songs always came from the heart, and right now his heart still bled. He tried to think of the half-elven twins, of when he would sing songs of this very city to them. But even then his song had been full of deep sorrow and lament.

Right now a small group of elflings was starting off the event with a cheery, happy gig, similar to most of the songs in Valinor at that time. He was doomed. "Eru help me," he prayed quietly.

When it was his turn to take the stage, he acknowledged the crowd's applause and walked slowly to the stool in the center of the stage where a gilded harp awaited him. He looked for Maitimo's copper hair and saw him sitting with Findekáno near the front. His brother held his gaze and nodded. The crowd grew silent as he sat down on the stool and plucked a few strings of the harp. He closed his eyes and took a breath, feeling his heart thud way too rapidly in his chest.

"Just play," the voice with the depth of a thousand waterfalls told him. And so Makalaurë put his hands on the strings and closed his eyes. At once the crowd was gone, and he saw instead wasted lands with lakes of flame. He saw the battlefields of the North, the great dragons spitting dark fire. He saw Maitimo's soldier's all dead, as he looked in vain for his captured brother. He saw the twins, their blood soaking into the sand as they died together. The flames of the boats, crimson liquid on his sword, Doriath arrows, and tidings from the fall of Gondolin. He never even realized that time had passed as he lost himself to these dark thought or that he had been playing all the while.

The crowd, elves and Ainur alike, sat unmoving as Makalaurë played the Noldolantë for the first time. He did not sing it then, but with his harp he produced music so deep and moving that the all ladies in the crowd wept. Events unspeakable played in that lament. And it was indeed the song of Makalaurë's broken soul. Nay, it was the song of the broken soul of all the Nolder that had died upon the fields and mountains of Arda.

When at last he finished, the crowd sat in stunned silence. The music having touched the innermost parts of all of them. And slowly, as it seemed the lights grew bright again and the spell was lifted, they began to clap in wonder. And the son of Fëanáro bowed and left the stage.

Later, when the concert finished, Maitimo was waiting for Makalaurë with Findekáno outside the hall. When he emerged, Findekáno looked at him in wonder. "When you played that song, Kano, I… I do not know how to describe it. You moved us all. I do believe I cried. And you did not even sing! If you were to add your magnificent voice to that piece, I think we would all still be in there under the spell of your music."

Makalaurë gave a sad smile. "Thank you, Findekáno. I myself am not sure what came over me,"

"Lord Brother!" a feminine voice called. The three males turned to see Irissë waving at Findekáno as she ran towards them. "Come see the new foal!" she begged, tugging on Findekáno's sleeve in a playful manner. "You did promise."

"So I did. Farewell, Maitimo, Makalaurë. One of our father's mares has just given birth, and apparently I am needed to admire the baby." Irissë laughed at his slight sarcasm.

"Come on," she said. And the two siblings walked in the direction of Ñolofinwë's dwelling.

Makalaurë and Maitimo watched them go and then walked back together, languishing behind the rest of their family and enjoying the warmth of the afternoon. About half way back, Makalaurë noticed a shadow pass over his brother's face.

"Was it that bad?" he asked his brother.

"What?"

"You look troubled, and I just assumed it had to do with the concert."

"Oh no, much worse."

"Worse? Worse than destroying the high spirits of an entire city? I doubt it."

"I had an unfortunate encounter with Morgoth."

Makalaurë paused misstep, his face draining of blood before he understood. "Not a day goes by when that I don't regret leaving you there. I…I thought Morgoth killed you when I …"

"No, I met him today. This morning before the concert," Maitimo cut him off.

"What?" Makalaurë looked his brother up and down looking for the injuries that he was sure to have.

"Yes, but he was in his fair form visiting the forge."

Makalaurë just stared in wonder while he processed that statement. Finally he found his voice again. "What lies was he spreading this time?"

"Mainly that I am ill in the mind and that the Valar are using me to get to the Silmarils."

Makalaurë shook his head. "How could we have been such fools. He was so obvious."

"Well even Manwë thought him redeemed. But he knows that I have 'seen the future' as he put it."

Makalaurë sighed. "It is of no consequence. It's not like ignorance would have made him any less of a threat. Not when he is no doubt already gathering forces in Angband."

* * *

 **A/N: I realize that the Noldolante is supposed to be focused mainly on the events of the first kinslaying, but I have always imagined it as being a song that encompasses the entire story, the entire fall of the Noldor. So that's how I wrote it here. If you don't like that, you can just pretend that it was your version of the Noldolante that Maglor played, I am sure the crowd would have still had the same reaction.**

 **Also Morgoth and Fingon make their appearances! *evil smile* The stage is almost set.**

 **Please review! I read each one ten times and then ten times over again. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**An update for you all and a few spelling corrections to my earlier chapters. *crosses fingers that no one noticed spelling issues in the first place***

 **Also forgive me for changing the cover image so often. The first had a copyright issue, and the fire opal I then used had a weird black background. So here's some iolite, hopefully it looks better! :)**

* * *

Tyelkormo arrived home from the concert well ahead of Maitimo and Makalaurë as he had not lingered as long afterwards as they had. He had just entered the palace courtyard when Huan barrelled into him knocking him off his feet. He fell with a umph onto his back as two large paws held his chest down and he felt the wolfhound gazing at him.

Wearily he opened his eyes, "What?" he hissed. "You are ruining my good robes."

" _Your dark haired uncle was here. Except it was not truly him. It didn't smell like him_! _It was not him!"_ he told his master, tail wagging in excitement.

"Get off you oaf!" Turko grunted, making a move to sit up. Thankfully, the massive hound got off of him. He stood up and looked around the grass for the golden circlet that Huan had knocked from his head. The fact that the night was falling and the lights mixing did not make the task any easier. At last he found it and shook blades of grass from it. Huan sat on his hunches, tail wagging impatiently.

"Okay, so if it wasn't Uncle Ñolofinwë, then who was it?" He said at last, placing the golden ring back on his head. Mother would kill him if he lost it.

" _I don't know, but he went down the road,"_ the hound declared. " _Towards the forge!"_ he added at the last moment, tail wagging even faster as he thought that piece of information might finally spurn his master into action.

The forge, thought Tyelkormo. Of course it had to be the forge, that was his father's favorite place, and if ever there was anything to disrupt the peace of Valinor, Turko knew that Fëanáro was bound to be at the center of it. Not to mention, the Silmarils that had Maitimo acting so weird were created there and it was where that Vala, Melkor, had visited.

"It's alright Huan. Maybe Uncle Ñolofinwë just bought some new perfume, besides Curvo is no doubt already there, he practically ran back from the concert. And father too." Because in all honesty, Turko was tired and not in the mood right now.

" _No,"_ the hound howled. " _Master's sire took a horse and left an hour ago. Something is wrong. We must go now! I'll even let you on my back,_ " the hound added.

Tyelkormo's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline at that. Huan was extremely proud and save one event when he was an elfling and had twisted his ankle on a rock far from home, Huan had never suffered anyone to ride him. It was enough to get him to relent. "Alright, Huan. If this really has you that worked up," he said, lightly jumping onto his hound's back. He had barely finished his sentence when Huan leapt forward like an eagle taking flight. "Gahh!" Tyelkormo shouted as he struggled to keep his seat and not fall off and crack his head open on the pavement. But too much of his weight was off center and he would have still fallen had Huan not suddenly pulled up short in front of a shocked Carnistir.

His brother's face was a classic look of shock, confusion, and disapproval all wrapped into one. Turko was sure that he somehow managed to look guilty sitting as he was within the manicured lawns of the palace on the back of his hound. But truly this was not his fault.

" _Tell him to get on! Three better than two,"_ the wolfhound barked. Still not sure about this whole situation, Turko nonetheless obeyed seeing as Huan was near hysterical in his excitement.

"Moryo! Get on behind me. Huan's gone crazy!" he shouted, grabbing his stunned brother's wrist as Huan again leapt forward. Poor Carnistir had no choice but to leap on or else be dragged through the dirt. As Carnistir found his seat, clutching to Turko's waist for dear life, Huan jumped over the gates and run through the forested area behind the main buildings of Tirion.

When they reached the forge, its doors were wide open. Huan looked ready to charge through it, despite the fact that he would hardly fit. Yet thankfully, for all his eagerness, the hound did not want to injure his riders. " _Go!_ " he barked at Tyelkormo, the urgency in his bark needing no translation for Carnistir. Still a little disoriented, the two brothers slid off and stalked through the door.

They were just in time to see Ñolofinwë emerge from the safe in the back. The tall dark-haired elf clutched a wooden box in one hand and a naked dagger in the other, a dagger that was streaked with red blood.

"Stop right there!" Tyelkormo shouted, the last vestiges of weariness fleeing him. His heart pounded as he stared at the image of his uncle, his uncle that Huan had sworn was not his uncle. Suddenly he found himself wishing for his bow.

Carnistir himself had gone rigid as he glanced from Ñolofinwë to the dagger to the crumpled form of Curufinwë laying in front of the heavy iron doors of the forge's safe. The safe where their father kept valuable jewelry and metals that he was still forging. The safe that held the Silmarils.

"Would you threaten your own uncle?" Ñolofinwë asked smoothly, too smoothly as his voice seemed sweet as with honey.

"You are not my uncle!" Tyelkormo declared. But even then a part of him wasn't so sure. The elf had Ñolofinwë's graceful posture that was not so easily imitated. He wore the exact same clothes as he had to the concert. Blue and silver robes made of fine linens and silks.

"Ñolofinwë would never spill the blood of another elf, let alone that of his brother's son." Carnistir said at last, speaking slowly, his steely blue eyes never leaving the form of his brother. The intruders lips pursed, and he twisted his dagger around as if to attack when chaos erupted.

Huan had lost his patience, and the powerful wolfhound barralled his way through the entrance, bricks tumbling to the ground as the wall near the door broke with the force of his leap. He skidded to a stop behind Carnistir, teeth barred in a snarl and ears flat against his skull. For the briefest of moments something akin to fear shown in the intruder's eyes before the wolfhound charged at him, jaws aiming for his throat.

But the intruder was just as quick to react, throwing up an arm in an attempt to protect himself. Huan's teeth bit deep into the appendage, and Carnistir and Tyelkormo watched in morbid fascination as black blood the color of oil welled from the wound. The image of Ñolofinwë flickered, revealing a dark face with chartreuse eyes, a Maia, Carnistir thought in fascination. He watched in silent disbelief as the Maia gritted his teeth and attempted in vain to tear his arm out of the wolfhound's jaws. But Huan's teeth had clamped into the muscle and tissue like a vice, and every movement from the Maia only served to wound him further. At last the dark-skinned being appeared to give up for he relaxed for a second, closing his eyes.

Carnistir had been about to move forward when the being suddenly tensed again, opened his green eyes, and lashed out with a kick at the dog's chest. The moment his struck the wolfhound, a massive explosion of sound and darkness enveloped the place. Carnistir found himself flying backwards, propelled by an invisible force. He felt his head slam into the brick wall, saw stars before his eyes, beautiful pinpoints of light that decorated a scene of perfect chaos as hammers fell from the wall and the earth shook. The last sound he heard before the darkness won him over was Huan's whimpers of pain.

Moments, minutes, centuries later—he was not sure which, Moryo slowly opened his eyes to stare at the damaged ceiling of the forge. Was that a gold bar stuck in the roof like an odd sort of icicle? He shook his head to ensure that his vision was working and immediately regretted it as it felt as though someone had taken an ax to his brain. To make matters worse, his ears were still ringing from the explosion? sound wave? kick? He wasn't exactly sure what to call it yet. That being had certainly been a Maia, and one adapt at shapeshifting, though it had bled black blood. He had read stories of dark beings with dark blood, he thought as he groaned and tried to sit up, but they were supposed at have all been vanquished long ago. He looked over to see Turko, sprawled on his stomach. A jolt of worry ran through Carnistir as he took in his brother's prone form. How injured was he? He was about to tell his brother to get up as well, if only so he could convince himself that the blond was alright, but Huan was faster.

No doubt the wolfhound's ears hurt terribly, Moryo mused as he watched the loyal dog stalk over to Tyelkormo. Still Huan was great in spirit and eager to pursue the one who had escaped him it seemed. " _Get up, master_!" the hound whined, nuzzling Turko's arm and pawing at his back. Turko only groaned like one with a hangover on an overly bright morning. Carnistir afforded himself a small smile; at least one brother was fine. " _He is getting away! We must go now if we are to catch him!"_ Huan howled.

Moryo sighed at the scene and standing on shaking feet, made his way over to help his blond brother up. He grabbed his arm, and had no sooner pulled him to his feet than the great white wolfhound of Valinor had nudged its head between Carnistir's legs and had crouched down beneath him before standing to its full height. Moryo's headache quadrupled as he suddenly found himself once again astride the wolfhound's back, a hand still gripping Turko's arm. His brother looking not quite coherent as of yet. But Huan didn't have time for their wits to return or for their poor heads to heal. The hound let out a long howl and Carnistir's eyes widened as he blatantly realized what the wolfhound was about to do.

Headache be damned, Moryo had to get his brother onboard. With all his might, he tried to swing Turko up behind him. Ironically, Huan helped when he took off at seemingly the speed of sound, the momentum sweeping poor Turko off of his feet, and Carnistir was just able to pull him down to sit astride Huan's back right behind him.

"Hold on! And pray that your crazy hound doesn't get us both killed," he shouted as Huan ran away from the forge. Turko was only just coming to his senses but had enough survival instincts to grab onto Carnistir's waist. Several minutes passed until at last Turko appeared to come to terms with his current predicament.

"What about Curufinwë?" he half-shouted, half-spat when Carnistir's long hair hit him in the face. Carnistir wouldn't admit it, but he was touched that the first thought his brother voiced after realizing that he was charging through the night on the back of an excitable wolfhound was one of concern for Curvo.

" _Other member's of pack find him. He will be alright."_ Huan answered between pants as he raced over the landscape, silver twilight descending on the land all the while.

* * *

Makalaurë stood before his mirror, braiding his hair in a simple fashion to keep it out of his face. He stepped back and looked at himself. He looked young and healthy, his dark raven hair glistening in the light as he tied off the braid he was working on. His blue-grey eyes had lost their innocence though.

At last he stepped back and donned a sleeveless black cloak. He put his hunting knife in his belt where it could be easily concealed. It felt downright wrong to be going after the Silmarils without a sword, but perhaps that was for the better, Makalaurë thought darkly. He would have taken his bow and arrows, but they were far too conspicuous. He gave his room one last glance before quietly opening his window and leaping into a nearby tree. A few of the Moriquendi elves he once knew would have been quite amused to know how much he found himself in trees as of late, he thought to himself with a faint smile.

Maitimo was already waiting for him by the time he leapt out of the branches. "One last time. To finally end this curse?" he asked.

"One last time," Makalaurë agreed. Like thieves in the night, the two walked across the yard and climbed stealthily over the gates.

Findekáno kneeled in the bushes just beyond the gates to his cousin's palace. He wore a short midnight blue tunic and black leggings, and he had his hair back in a ponytail. He knew his friends were up to something, and he simply wanted to know what. Not to mention he was feeling mischievous as of late. He still didn't know whether he was going to help them or just sit back and watch them dig their own graves. But that could be decided later.

He looked up to see two cloaked figures climb the gate with agile speed to land soundlessly in the other side. Findekáno wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was impressed. Maitimo wasn't exactly a small elf, and Makalaurë never struck him as an athletic type. As the two older elfs left, Findekáno followed behind them. They had not gone more than four hundred yards when Maitimo stopped, sighed, and turned around.

"Go home Findekáno," he wearily said.

Findekáno just raised his eyebrows. "Lighten up, my friend. You're as bad as Turukáno. What can be so serious about a couple of jewels anyway? Are you afraid your lady friend will reject you?"

The look those two gave him, dark and without humor, made Findekáno falter, maybe he shouldn't have insulted Maitimo's crush, if he really did have one. But just last week they had raced horses through the forest together, laughing the whole time and exchanging good natured taunts. Now Maitimo was acting like a stoic statue. Maitimo looked inquisitively at him and then his eyes softened.

"Very well. I do owe you my life. But this is your last warning to step back and claim innocence in the future." Findekáno wasn't exactly sure what to make out of the statement. Because while he did warn his cousin once that a certain plant he had considered eating was poisonous, the incident hardly counted as saving his life. But now was not the time to ponder it at the moment.

"You know me. I am with you to the end." Maitimo nodded in response and together the three continued their night journey through the forest just behind the shops. At last they reached Fëanáro's forge in the small clearing at the end of the road. All three of them stopped in their tracks. The was door had been flung clean off its hinges and lay a distance away. The entrance looked as if a wild horse had careened through it and part of the brick wall was missing.

"What I wouldn't give for a sword," Makalaurë declared, blue-grey eyes wide as he tried to imagine what could have caused such damage. It didn't help that his first thought was balrogs. Though if he were honest to himself, a blaring would have leveled the place, not just crashed through the door.

"Did your father finally lose it?" asked Findekáno, awe evident in his voice.

"Except that he shouldn't be here. Mother said that he left a note, telling her that he was going to visit Olwë and purchase some new tools from the merchants in Alqualonde," whispered Maitimo.

"Is it Moringotto then?" the singer asker, glancing at the forge with new trepidation.

"I do not know."

"The black enemy? I hope you guys haven't been spending too much time trying to write poetry" Findekáno commented. The Fëanorians didn't respond to his jest. Really, since when had they become so serious. "Well, at any rate, let's find out who it is," he added. "It's not like you two don't have a right to be there. Perhaps Curvo just got frustrated."

Maitimo nodded because although a part of his mind yelled at him to run, reminding him that he did not stand a chance against Morgoth with just a hunting knife, there was no way he was turning back. Therefore he walked through the ruined doorway, lowering the hood of his cloak as he did so. Darkness surrounded him and silence reigned in the small space. But Maitimo swore he could hear the faint sound of someone breathing.

Very carefully he lighted the oil lamp near the door and froze as the yellow light rolled back the darkness of the night. The forge was in complete disarray. A heavily anvil lay on the floor tipped over. There were tongs and hammers littering the ground. And molten metal had spilled near the furnace. But that was not what concerned the eldest son of Fëanáro.

The heavy door to the backroom safe, where his father kept valuable jewelry and metals, was wide open. And in front of it lay Curufinwë, blood running from his lacerated side and a large bruise decorating his jaw.

The two sons of Fëanáro ran to their cousin, but Findekáno stayed rooted to the spot in shock and horror. Until that day no elven blood had ever been spilled in Valinor, and the sight was terrible for the son of Ñolofinwë to behold. Maitimo and Makalaurë, however, had no such reservations about blood, and they ran to their brother. Carefully the Makalaurë pulled his brother's head into his lap and inspected the discoloration of his jaw, gingerly running his fingers over it and feeling for any sign that it was broken. Maitimo had begun efficiently shredding strips of his tunic and binding the deep wound on Curufinwë's side.

As he did so, Makalaurë looked around. There lay a large sword with a half completed handle not to far from where his brother lay, and he assumed that Curufinwe had tried to defend himself with it while guarding the entrance to the safe. But while he would become skilled with a blade within a few short weeks of their arrival in Beleriand, Makalaurë knew that his brother had never held one before this night. What concerned him more was the open door to the safe.

"Findekáno, can you support his head for me? I am worried that he has a concussion and a bad one at that." His cousin nodded as he overcame his shock and carefully knelt beside Makalaurë. Carefully the minstrel lifted Curufinwë's head from his lap and placed him on Findekáno's. He then stood up and walked into the safe, already knowing what he would find. A sapphire necklace, a handful of unset emeralds, a circlet made of diamonds and musgravite, bars of gold, mithril, and platinum, none of it was touched. But he did not see the box that Maitimo had described as holding the Silmarils.

He heard soft footsteps and looked up to see Maitimo's silver-grey eyes scan the small room. "It is gone," he said simply.

"Morgoth no doubt."

"But why did he take it now, when he waited so long last time?"

"Because of you."

Realization came upon Maitimo: "He reasoned from my memories that we would try and take them first chance we got."

"And he probably realized that we would take them Manwë."

"But wouldn't that work out all the better for him? The Noldor would then not pursue him to Arda, and he would be left alone."

"I wouldn't be so sure. Father is rearing for a fight, as you said earlier. And besides, his ultimate plan is the destruction of all light. He destroyed the two lamps, and the trees, I bet he even plotted the darkening of the sun and moon. If Manwë uses the Silmarils to rekindle the trees, then it just puts him back a step."

Maitimo nodded, the reasoning made sense, but for some reason he was still not so sure. Morgoth seemed too cunning to knowingly invoke the wrath of the Noldor, the thorn in his side for all those years. But if he was hellbent on destroying all light then it was possible. Besides, he thought, Maitimo knew from personal experience that Morgoth got a sick satisfaction out of killing and torturing the Children of Ilúvatar. Perhaps he wanted the Noldor to come, to smote themselves on the walls of Angband, to burn with dragon fire, and to die in agony of his own design.

"We need to get Curvo back," Makalaurë's voice jostled Maitimo from his thoughts. The two of them walked back out of the safe to where Findekáno knelt with Curufinwë's head in his lap, gently stroking his dark hair back. Their cousin looked up at them in wonder.

"So…" he began, his voice strangely accusatory considering the circumstances. If there was one thing about Findekáno, it was that he possessed an uncanny ability to adapt and overcome whatever life threw at him.

Maitimo and Makalaurë looked at each other and then tried, and failed, to smile the most innocent of smiles. As it were, they just looked even more guilty.

"So…" Findekáno continued, still trying to process all that he had witnessed. "Here, I had believed that we were going to have a fun night sneaking around, borrowing some gems of your father's so Nelyo could impress some lady friend of his… but I am getting the increasing feeling that there is something you are not telling me," he added, looking down at the now bloodied strips of Maitimo's tunic that bound his cousin's side.

Makalaurë bent down to gently pick up said cousin. "The understatement of the age, Findekáno," he said as he hoisted Curufinwë into his arms. "But right now getting Curvo back home for the healers to care for him is more important."

* * *

Telufinwë, as it were, was in the library reading about treatments for broken bones, which while uncommon in Valinor, did still occur when elflings fell from trees so someone was thrown by a spooked horse. He was currently enamored with a fair elf maiden from Alqualonde named Sarpalarë, who had a keen interest in the art of healing. Suffice to say, he was hoping to impress her with his newfound knowledge for making slings using only materials found in the woods.

He was interrupted from his studies when he heard the heard the palace's large wooden doors slam open and his eldest brother's voice call out, "Help! Curufinwë has been hurt. Fetch a healer!" Immediately he got up and ran down the hallway to the foyer. He heard footsteps coming the staircase and saw Nerdanel hurrying down the steps trailed by Indil, a healer that had lived with the family ever since their father was a child. Although trained by Estë herself when the firstborn had first arrived in Valinor, Indil's brown eyes still went wide in shock when she saw the dark haired elf lying in his brother's arms. But she recovered quickly and took command of the situation.

"Bring him to the healing room in the eastern wing," she commanded Makalaurë. "Findekáno fetch me some hot water. Telvo, I heard you have a sudden interest in healing? Well, now is your chance to learn. Come with me." Telvo didn't bother trying to explain that he was simply trying to impress a girl. It would not have gone over very well with the stern healer of the house. He followed Makalaurë, Indil, and Nerdanel as they hurried to the room set up for healing.

"What happened?" Nerdanel asked, her voice breaking as slightly as she watched Indil peel away the blood-strained strips of Maitimo's tunic. When she saw the ragged cut in her son's side, she stiffened and grabbed Maitimo's bicep in a vice-like-grip for support.

"We don't know," Makalaurë said. "We were taking Findekáno to see the Silmarils only to find them gone and Curvo unconscious before the safe."

"I suspect Melkor." Maitimo said darkly.

"Telvo hand me that cloth and dip it in the hot water," Indil commanded when Findekáno arrived with a bowl. "The wound was bound exceptionally well considering the circumstances," she glanced at Maitimo. "Perhaps I have impressed the wrong Fëanorian into my field," she said nodding at Telvo as he handed her her the damp towel.

They heard hurried footsteps and Pityfinwë rushed into the room. He glanced at Curufinwë and his face blanched. "By the Valar!" he swore under his breath.

"Alright, it's getting too crowded in here," Indil declared as he entered. "Telvo and Nerdanel can stay. I need the rest of you out so I can work. Don't worry, the cut is deep but far from anything important. The bruise looks mostly superficial. He'll be fine."

With that Pityfinwë, Maitimo, Makalaurë, and Findekáno were all unceremoniously pushed out of the room. They walked for a few steps when Pityo seemed to break down.

"What is going on? I go for a walk, and now Curufinwë is unconscious! He even has his eyes closed!" Pityo half-sobbed. Maitimo winced, the elder twin was in near hysterics. He had forgotten how naive they had all once been to pain and injury. He looped an arm around the other redhead's shoulder's, and comfortingly soothed his hair.

"It will be alright, Pityo. Telvo's in there, and"

"Telvo is useless," he huffed.

"Well he's at least been trying to read up a bit on the healing arts. And I assure you that Indil is the greatest elven healer to ever walk in Aman."

Pityo in that moment seemed to compose himself. He stopped walking suddenly, shrugging off his brother's touch. Maitimo took a step back, confused. Pityfinwë whirled around then, glaring at the two eldest and the son of Findekáno in turn. "You know something, don't you? You are avoiding my question. What. Is. Going. On." he demanded, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

Makalaurë sighed. "Somebody stole the Silmarils. We believe that Melkor, Manwë's brother, is not be as redeemed as he claims to be."

"What evidence do you have to backup such a claim? In case you haven't realized, Melkor isn't exactly in a position to ruffle feathers!"

The others didn't reply. Pityfinwë stared at them. "You all have gone off your rockers. And you've gone and involved the House of Ñolofinwë in our personal business," he said with a nod towards Findekáno. "I'm done," he added tersely, walking off to his own rooms.

Makalaurë sighed and looked at his brother and cousin. "He doesn't mean it. Pityo is just hurt. I think he feels twice as much as he should. And sometimes he will be all mopey and depressed and…"

"And sometimes he is the son of Fëanáro," Findekáno finished for him. "Honestly, I am surprised at how stoic you two are being," he added looking at the brothers on either side of him. He walked to the window and took in the silver night. "It is late, cousins. It would be impolite to send me home in the dark…."

Maitimo sighed. "You can stay here." Findekáno didn't even try to hide his smile. There were few people who kind get under Russandol's skin, and he enjoyed being one of them.

An hour later and Maitimo closed his eyes and sunk beneath the hot water of his bath with an inward sigh, letting the heat wash away his stress. It had been a long day. He was also getting tired of everyone not taking him seriously. Part of him had wanted to lash out at Pityo. Maitimo cringed at the thought as he resurfaced and took a deep breath. Such an action would have been born out of anger. And he would have been acting like his father. Maitimo shuddered. No, he just had to be patient. He used to find it easy, but Beleriand had seemed to have ripped the last of his patience right from his soul. He sighed and tipped his head back, letting the water caress his skull. He would work on it, he finally resolved.

There was a soft knock on the door and his brother walked in, wearing a red satin robe and his hair was wet and down, dark tendrils trailing down his back. " _If you've come to seduce me, Maglor, I am not interested._ "

" _Fingon is here. He wants to understand 'the understatement of the age.'"_

" _Of course he does_ ," Maitimo replied tiredly before allowing his upper torso and head to slide back under water, a clear dismissal if ever there was one.

Makalaurë, was of course, not impressed. He crossed his arms as his brother disappeared under the water. When he didn't resurface, he stalked over to the tub and thrust a hand in where his brother's head had last been. He then proceeded to grab a fistfull of hair and physically pull his head back above the surface.

" _You orcish fiend!"_ Maitimo spat, reaching back to grab onto Makalaurë's hand where it was still tangled in his hair. Makalaurë laughed and released his brother.

"Come on, you've been in there long enough," he said as he opened the door and left.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

Tylekormo would almost admit that despite it all, this was sort of fun. Yeah, he wished Curufinwë hadn't gotten hurt, but Curvo had been increasingly irritable as of late, so he sort of deserved it. He also wished that the Silmarils hadn't been stolen, of course. But there was something exhilarating about the breakneck ride through the night. It was something about the danger, the way his heart had been beating just a little too fast, that he found he loved. Almost. It would have been much better if Moryo's hair wasn't constantly flying in his face, obstructing his vision and getting into his mouth. At last he had enough,

"Carnistir! Tie your hair or put it in a braid or something! I can't see!" he spat as Huan neared the other side of the forest west of Tirion.

Carnistir said nothing. Turko huffed. Typical.

"Huan!" he yelled over the wind. "Let's stop for a minute so Moryo can find a way to keep his hair out of my mouth!" But the wolfhound continued to run at twice the speed of Turko's fastest horse. Turko sighed. Why did they even have to bring Carnistir along? The guy was perfectly content brooding on the couch all day. Even with his less-than-fantastic view, Tyelkormo suddenly realized that the trees were thinning. They were reaching the edge of the forest and were nearing a portion of Yavanna's pastures that consisted of beautiful meadows full of wildflowers. It seemed like as good of a stopping point as any. He was about to tell Huan this, when suddenly the ground vanished. And they were falling, very quickly.

Huan yelped in surprise and Turko felt his heart leap into his throat as he fell through the earth. His mind unable to process what was happening. Before it could catch up, two things occurred almost simultaneously: he hit the bottom with a thud, lightning pain searing through his skull as it struck the ground, and Huan's massive bulk fell right on top of his leg, crushing it. He cried out in pain as his vision went dark, and he lost all consciousness.

Carnistir had acted on moment Huan's front paws didn't hit the ground but had fallen through it as if it were a mirage, he leapt away from Huan's body. Later, he would rationalize that this quick reaction was learned from all the falls he had taken trying to break Raukarocco, a high strung cult that weighed as much as a mountain. When one was in the saddle one moment and falling the next, he had learned that it was best to get as far away from the beast as possible. (Of course, his lovely brother didn't have that learning experience, as all animals _just had to_ love him. So he had never been crushed by a demon disguised as a horse.) But although his leap saved him from getting crushed, Moryo still hit the ground rather hard on his side. He laid there, dazed for several moments, staring at the smooth dirt walls of the massive hole they had somehow fallen into.

It was at then, at the bottom of an Eru-forsaken hole in the middle of Valinor, that Carnistir realized just how not according to plan this day had gone. He yearned for his balcony or his bed. He needed a peaceful place to think about where it all went wrong, what unfortunate string of events had lead him here. Too much had happened today. From Maitimo's weird conversation with Melkor, to Kano's uncharacteristically sorrowful music, to the incident in the forge, to the fact that he was now in a hole in the earth in his once very fine festival robes—yes, something had gone spectacularly wrong indeed. Because unlike his blockhead brothers, he made observations. He wrote them down and thought about people's motives and decisions. And until today, he had thought that he had understood everyone and had life figured out. But clearly he had missed something somewhere or else he would be in his bed with a good book and not in a hole in the earth. It was then that Carnistir had the terrible thought that everything he knew to be right might be wrong.

Groaning, he moved to sit up, hoping that the world would gradually stop spinning and things would start making sense again. He then noted that Huan was whimpering and pawing at something lying on the ground. A sudden bout of deja vu camo over Carnistir. By the Valar, that hound certainly mothered over his halfwit brother!

"And meanwhile just leave me in the dirt because the only thing I am good for is lugging around like a sack of flour," Carnister grumbled to himself as he stood on unsteady feet and stumbled to his blond brother who was lying on his side, blue eyes closed.

Huan was gently pawing at his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up. Carefully, Carnistir knelt down and with trembling fingers caressed his brother's face, sweeping away stray strands of hair. He was not a healer. He didn't have the slightest idea what he needed to do for Turko or what he could even do, seeing as all he had on him were his clothes and some minimal jewelry. Then Huan in worry for his master and friend let loose a low, haunting howl. It took Carnistir a moment to realize that that was not the best idea.

"No, Huan! This is not a natural sinkhole. The ground didn't give away, it...it was like it wasn't even there to begin with," he stated, realization dawning on him. This was a trap! In the peace of Valinor the idea had not at first even occurred to him.

"Very perceptive, little elf," a voice as sweet as honey and as cool as the night breeze said from above. The dark-skinned Maia stood on the edge of the hole, looking down. To Carnistir, his complexion was exotic. With bronze skin and long brunette hair, he could have been beautiful if not for the ugly sneer his wore or the glints of sickly yellow in his otherwise green eyes. But something about him rang a bell.

"Naracalammo, master of illusions, a former servant of Irmo, the Vala of dreams," the elf said, recalling a poem that had described the servants of Irmo.

Naracalammo gave a patronizing smile, "Very good, little elf, but I fear that you, your brother, and that hideous dog of yours know too much still. Tsk. Tsk. What to do? I could leave you here. But your idiot brothers would eventually find you, and elves don't starve easily." The fallen Maia shook his head and unslung his bow, notching an arrow, and aimed it at the fallen form of Tyelkormo. "You are slain though." Huan didn't waste a second, the loyal hound lunged at the earthen walls in a desperate but vain attempt to protect Turko.

"They will find our bodies," Carnistir spat back. "They will be onto you even if you kill us here."

"Of course, of course but never underestimate the power of leverage. For instance, I can tell you that this arrow is laced with a sleeping drug…" and with that he shot Huan, whose size made it impossible for him to dodge. The wolfhound staggered a bit before collapsing into unconsciousness. He then aimed for Carnistir, and released the arrow, but the elf quickly leapt backwards and the shot fell short, the arrow skidding across the ground to stop by his feet.

"See? This is what I wanted to avoid, little elf. I am already late, after all." The fallen Maia then aimed again at Turko, "So leverage then: attempt to dodge, move a muscle, and the next one will go through his heart." Carnistir froze and the Maia laughed, as he quickly shifted his stance and fired. Lancing pain sliced through Moryo's left arm and darkness fell over him like a curtain. He did not feel his body hit the floor or Naracalammo laugh.

* * *

After Maitimo had dried himself off and dressed himself in a dark robe with golden embroidery, he walked out of his bathroom and into his room to see Findekáno on his bed, scribbling intently in a journal. Makalaurë was in an armchair nearby starring with unfocused eyes, lost in thought. Maitimo sighed and sat down on another armchair. For a moment he felt like young Ereinion, brought before his father to answer for some mischievousness. This was ridiculous.

Their cousin cleared his throat when Maitimo sat down, and he looked up from his writing with a pointed look at the two Fëanorians. Maitimo was very much tempted to tell him that his inner dad was showing, but Findekáno cleared his throat and seemed ready to launch into a lecture, so he didn't.

"Alright my dearest cousins, let me retell some of the events of today. Just before noon, Russandol reluctantly reveals to me a prank to steal three of his father's gems," Findekáno begins, reading out of his journal. "He then tells me, very seriously, not to join him as he and you, Makalaurë, are going to get into some 'serious trouble.' Of course, I know you two are not really the type to get into trouble so I all but ignored that comment. First mistake. Second mistake: I should have realized that you two never play pranks on your father, only on me and your younger brothers, and that no one is so deadly serious when talking about innocent mischief. There was something more going on there," he paused for emphasis before continuing with his recitation of evidence.

"And then I see you two sneaking out like thieves. In fact, I remember being impressed at how silently you both moved. And I follow you. And again, you Maitimo, tell me to turn around if I still want to claim innocence or something like that. That's twice when you two were acting more like you were walking to your own execution than partaking in some family prank war. So clearly, you knew something even before we reached the forge. What was it?"

Maitimo sighed. "We knew that Melkor planned to steal the gems, the Silmarils. We just decided to steal them first. We had no idea he would still get there before us."

"And how did you know that?"

Maitimo almost winced. He wanted to tell his dear friend and cousin the truth. But he also desperately needed Findekáno to believe him. He sighed. "Visions," Maitimo said at last. It was close enough to the truth and way more believable. "We have both had the exact same one. I told father and Turko, but they both believed that something was messing with us, feeding us lies, and they ignored our warnings. If you think similarly, I see no point in continuing this conversation. Because you won't convince Makalaurë and I that our visions were false, and I am too tired to try and convince you if you insist on being stubborn."

Findekáno stared at them for a moment, seeing dead seriousness in their eyes, and a hint of something more, something darker. He gulped. "I believe you," he spoke slowly, wondering why he suddenly felt afraid. "As I said, you knew something was going to happen and something obviously did. I cannot see how they could be false."

"Thank you, cousin," said Maitimo, and Kano nodded his head in agreement. There was a moment of silence until Findekáno looked down at his journal once more.

"So you knew that Melkor wanted the Silmarils. Why?"

"We aren't completely sure," Makalaurë spoke up, realizing how he really didn't know the full answer to that. "For sure he wants to gloat and snub our father by wearing those jewels. But I think he also spurns the Valar by wearing them, because they have the light of the trees, their light. And as long as he has them, the light of the trees can never be rekindled," he said, thinking out loud.

"What do you mean, 'rekindled'?" Findekáno's voice faltered just a bit.

"In our vision, we saw Melkor destroy the two trees," replied Maitimo without skipping a beat. Findekáno's face went white. And then steel-cold determination settled in his eyes.

"How do we stop him?"

"I don't know if we can," said Makalaurë.

"What?! You intend to sit here and do nothing?"

"No, cousin, we intend to stop something much worse from happening. If we are successful, we may gain strength enough to defeat Melkor. But I doubt such strength will come in time to save the trees."

"What could possibly be worse than the death of the trees?"

"There is an Oath, Findekáno. An Oath that if sworn by my family will destroy us and divide the Eldar," replied Maitimo, his voice soft and tinged with regret. Makalaurë bowed and his head and looked at the floor.

For his part, Findekáno sat on the bed, and said nothing, clearly attempting to understand what was said and why his cousins were so grave in manner and words. At last he smiled, "Well that's not too bad!" he declared standing up and walking over to Maitimo. "We just need to make some pink hair dye, to ensure that none of the Fëanorians dare to appear in public swear this oath, and we can all sleep easy!" he replied clapping his friend on the shoulder, attempting to lighten the mood. But Maitimo didn't look up.

The silence would have been awkward, but suddenly there was a loud screech echoed through the space. A frantic hawk flew straight in through the open window, flying frantically in circles around the room.

"Ahhh! Calm down there!" shouted Makalaurë in an irritate voice. "Turko's room is two down the hall." The hawk cried again at that and flew out of the room, papers flying off of Maitimo's desk as it flew by. It was not two seconds later when the bird screeched again and flew back, flying straight into Makalaurë's face, making him duck from its sharp talons. It then flew back out again.

"Poor bird is as mad as the rest of your house," declared Findekáno, happy for the distraction from the melancholic mood, as he walked out the door to see what was causing the bird such distress. The brothers followed only to see the hawk standing next to Tyelkormo's closed door, pecking at it impatiently with its beak.

"Say has anyone seen Turko tonight?" Makalaurë asked, hesitation evident in his voice. No one answered, but Maitimo walked over and opened the door. The hawk flew in and seemed to eye various objects scattered about, till he settled on an arrowhead lying on Turko's dresser. With another terrible screech, he snatch it in his talons and dropped it into Makalaurë's hands before flying to the headboard of Turko's bed and screeching again.

"Turko's in trouble," Makalaurë said flatly, staring at the obsidian arrowhead in his hands.

"And the excitement never ends in the house of Fëanáro. I guess I won't be sleeping here after all."

Maitimo looked up at his cousin's bright eyes, saw through his attempt to cheer them up. Valar bless him. What did he do to deserve such a steadfast friend? At long last, he cracked a lopsided smile and allowed some of the sparkle to return to his eyes, "No it doesn't. The question is: can the minstrel here handle an adventure?"

"Oh shut up," grumbled Makalaurë, elbowing Maitimo in the ribs. But his brother could see that despite his grumpy response, Kano's shoulders appeared to relax and some of the old Makalaurë was back.

"Alright then. Shall we?" Maitimo invited, as he stood up and went to his wardrobe and pulled out some tan breeches and a simple forest green tunic. Makalaurë walked through the open doorway that led into his adjoining room so that he too could change. Findekáno had perhaps been the most sensible one and had not yet bathed or changed, so he was ready to go. After leaving a note for Nerdanel explaining that Carnistir and Tyelkormo had not returned from the concert and that they were going to go look for them (and that she should not worry), the trio was in the stables saddling threes horses.

Maitimo and Makalaurë were taking their own steeds. Maitimo's a large black stallion, Taracas, who would prove to be fierce and unmatched in battle. The sight of Maedhros astride the great warhorse, fiery red hair streaming behind him and a naked blade unsheathed, was said to be the very vision of either triumph or doom, depending on what side you were on. (No one save the two brothers, of course, knew that now.) Makalaurë's horse was a proud bay named Aparuivë who would likewise prove loyal and steadfast to his master during the trials of Beleriand. Findekáno took Raukarocco, the white stallion that Carnistir had had a terrible time breaking.

The three elves had been a little distressed to see both Raukarocco and Tyelkormo's horse in the stables, as it meant that they had not planned on going anywhere outside of walking distance of the palace. But clearly, if the concerned hawk perched on the stable door was any indication, things had not gone to plan for their two younger brothers

Makalaurë double checked the cinch on Aparuivë's saddle, and then checked the string on his bow.

"Are you really going to need that?" Findekáno asked him somewhat tentatively as he eyed the bow, secretly uneasy at how nonchalant and practiced the singer's motions were as he armed himself. It was not as though they were going for a hunt, and they had plenty of bread for the journey.

Before Makalaurë could answer, Maitimo wordlessly handed him two dual hunting knives that belonged to Tyelkormo, putting Carnistir's knife in his belt. "The world isn't as we once thought, cousin," he replied darkly. "Honestly, I am very apprehensive about not having a sword."

"There is that one that father was working on in the forge. The embellishments are not completed yet, but..." Makalaurë offered.

"You're right," Maitimo eyed his brother suspiciously looking for a hint of a challenge in his eyes. Makalaurë only sighed.

"You were always the better swordsman. It is yours." Maitimo smiled. And Findekáno's mouth fell open.

"A better swordsmen? Russandol! You shouldn't even know how to use a sword!" Findekáno chided, a look of disbelief on his fair face.

"Times are changing," Maitimo replied as he mounted Taracas. In the low light of Telperion, the stallion's coat gleamed like coal and combined with Maitmo's hair and the dark look he had on his face, they looked not dissimilar from a balrog of flame, Kano reasoned. Findekáno was still staring incredulously, wondering what had happened to his goofy cousin.

At last Maitimo cracked a lopsided smile. "That look does not flatter you, dearest cousin. Come on, we all know how impatient Raukarocco can be."

"And why do I get the demon horse?" Findekáno huffed but nonetheless complied.

Before long they had reached the forge. Findekáno and Makalaurë remained on their horses, the anxious hawk circling above them, while Maitimo went in and came back out with the weapon sheathed on the right side of his belt. If Findekáno noticed, he didn't say anything, though chances were that he was too distracted by the fact that Maitimo was wearing a sword in the first place to acknowledge what side he wore it on. The oldest son of Fëanáro leapt back into the saddle, and with a low cry from the hawk, they followed it into the night.

* * *

The mixing of the lights were nearing and a new day drawing near. Despite traveling through the night, Fëanáro was far from tired. In fact, with each passing moment he grew more and more alert as his anticipation grew. He was not on his way to Alqualonde, and although he regretted lying to his wife, he did not think she would approve of his current journey. Normally, he wouldn't approve of what he was doing either, but the deal had been too good to pass up.

He was on his way to Alistimanár, a secret forge in the northern Peloris that Melkor had built for him, hoping to win him over no doubt. But Fëanáro couldn't care less about the wiley Vala's intention; he got the forge of his dreams and that was all that mattered. He eyed the Vala as he rode in front on him on a great black stallion. Melkor had described it to him in that silky voice of his: great furnaces cut in gneiss, vaulted ceilings fifty meters high, great heaps of gold and silver, iron and bronze just waiting to be tempered by his craftsmanship. And it was all his. Melkor's only condition had been that he be the one to personally escort him to the forge the first time and to thus see his reaction.

It was not two hours later when Melkor lead him off rarely used trails and through a series of deep canyons and valleys. Jagged rock and sheer cliffs towered over the narrow splinters of flat ground on which they traveled. His horse becoming increasingly uneasy in this shadowed place.

"The landscape serves as a natural maze, obscuring the entrance from any passing eye," Melkor said. At last they rounded a sharp corner, and Fëanáro beheld a cave leading into the mountain itself. "A humble doorway," Melkor began as he lead them into the cave that bent another ninety degrees, "to a grand place," he finished as the cave, or more accurately tunnel Fëanáro realized) gave way to a massive room. It was everything Melkor had promised and more.

Great arched ceilings towered above them, new furnaces lined the southern wall, awaiting to be filled with flame. There were workbenches and new anvils and tools hanging neatly on the wall. And yes, there were stockpiles of metals in the northern corner. "Do you like it?" Melkor asked.

"I love it," replied Fëanáro not realizing the dark tone that was evident in his voice.

"Very well then, it is yours."

"My lord!" a melodious voice called. Fëanáro looked up to see what appeared to by a Maian servant approach Melkor from across the great forge. He was dark skinned and had long brunette hair, and he walked so softly that he appeared to glide rather than to walk. Fëanáro frowned, he did not know that Melkor had been allowed any servants so soon after his trials.

The Maia gracefully dropped to one knee before Melkor and bowed his head. "I regret to inform you, but alas, seeing as the Crown Prince of the Noldor is here as well, I fear I must: there are traitors in the House of Finwë."

"What?" demanded Fëanáro.

"It is true. I attended the concert along with many of my fellow Maia and close friends. But I left early, because I knew that I may be needed here and the trip is not a short one. But"

"Spit it out already!" Fëanáro demanded, his temper surging again. Melkor simply nodded.

"But I saw Ñolofinwë running from the old forge, three gems clutched to his chest. I attempted to pursue, but it appears your traitorous half-brother had accomplices..."

"WHO?" Fëanáro all but shouted.

"Your sons, Turkafinwë Tyelkormo and Morifinwë Carnistir. When they saw that I intended to stop the theft, they let that terrible wolfhound on me," he showed the ragged bite mark on his arm, though it was already scarred over to to the Ainur's great healing powers. "They then pursued me relentlessly, but I was able to outwit them, and bring them down with arrows laced with a sleeping drug and with the help of the blond one's already injured leg."

"AND WHERE ARE THEY NOW!" Fëanáro yelled. Naracalammo did not even flinch.

"I had no choice but to bind them and to lock them in one of the rooms here. I must warn you though, they have become talented liars. They may try and protect your Uncle. But if my word and wound do not convince you of the truth, you must only talk to Curufinwë, your favorite son. For he was at the forge at that time of Ñolofinwë's betrayal and was indeed wounded by Ñolofinwë's knife."

* * *

 **Review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Ah, do you guys know how miserable it is to map in the winter? You're standing there absolutely freezing, the wind just whipping through the mountains, threatening to send your half completed map into the river, and you're trying to make these fine, perfect lines with fingers so cold they don't even work right. Put on gloves and you can't draw those perfect lines so nicely anymore. Oh well. At least my hands have thawed enough by now to submit this chapter. A big thank you to all who reviewed previously, you guys are the reason why I managed to get a chapter up this week!**

* * *

As morning broke in Tirion and Laurelin's soft golden light overtook Telperion's silver, the twin sons of Fëanáro were quietly talking amongst themselves as they sat by Curufinwë's bedside. Or more truthfully, Telvo was droning on about the wound in Curvo's side, and Pityo had long ago toned him out. Pityafinwë had thought that his brother was only into healing because of Sarpalarë, but now he wasn't so sure. He had the exact same excitement in his voice as Turko did when described one of his hunts, and that did not bode well for him. Soon Telvo would find himself delivering babies. Pityo shuddered. But then again, maybe his twin deserved that fate for talking his ear off at unholy hours in the morning. Personally, Pityafinwë was more into the sowing and reaping of crops, a passion actually needed in peaceful Valinor, and he was seriously considering leaving to check on some of the vineyards when he felt Telvo's stare. He turned to meet his brother's glare.

"What?" he asked, irritation seeping into his voice.

"Were you not listening to me?"

"No I was not. You were getting boring. I was just thinking about how I should check the vineyards. You probably screwed up and gave Curvo too much of that drug anyway, hence why he is still asleep. And if that is the case, there is no use wasting the morning sitting around here." Pityo explained.

"I did not!" shouted Telvo with an indignant look on his face. "In fact, our brother should be waking up soon, and then he can tell us what happened."

Pityo paused from beginning to stand up and sat back down. "What do you think happened?" he asked quietly.

"Well as I was explaining," Telvo began, "Our brother was obviously stabbed by someone. And Maitimo mentioned that the Silmarils had been taken. He said that he thought it was Melkor."

"He has no reason to say that!" Pityo interrupted. "Nelyafinwë has been acting self-righteous as of late. He claims that he's been having 'visions.' Artanis has visions. Findarato sometimes. But not Maitimo!" he huffed, anger still evident in his voice. His twin just stared at him. Pityo stared back into eyes that perfectly matched his own. This lasted of several seconds. Unfortunately, both elves were so focused on the other that they didn't notice their brother shift on the bed.

"It wasn't Melkor," a rough voice spoke up. The twins whirled around to see Curufinwë laying with his light blue eyes open. "It was Ñolofinwë."

"What?!" both twins gasped.

"I saw him. There was no doubt. I saw him as he took his silver dagger and stabbed me." Two sets of dark grey eyes stared incredulously at the injured elf. Simultaneously, they both wandered down to the bandages on his side, confusion ghosting in one silver gaze and anger rising in the second.

"Traitor," Pityo hissed after a moment. "And Nelyo brought Findekáno here," he added with bitter resentment evident in his voice.

"Why?" Curufinwë asked darkly, suddenly sounding more alert as he heard the latter name..

"He was with him and Makalaurë when they brought you back. It was the three of them who found you. They claimed that they had been taking Findekáno to see the Silmarils…" Telufinwë said slowly, realization hitting him. His face paled.

"Show Findekáno the Silmarils, sure" huffed Pityo as he crossed his arms. "More like go make sure that our traitorous uncle didn't need any help."

"I can't believe it. Our own uncle...and our brothers! Nelyo and Kano would never betray us," Telvo muttered, not meeting the eyes of his brothers.

"Wake up Telvo!" his twin snapped. "Maitimo has been talking about Melkor for days. What is more likely? That our dear brother was randomly blessed with a foresight, which he has not once exhibited in the past, mind you! Or that he was somehow persuaded to get in bed with Uncle and Cousin Findekáno! That he is simply attempting to shift the blame to Melkor? Maitimo has always had a soft spot for our cousins."

"Well father has been harsh on him lately," Telvo reasoned. "He always bears the brunt of his anger. Maybe he broke just a bit?"

"Or maybe he was a traitor to begin with," Pityo stated.

"Where are Nelyo and Kano and dearest Findekáno now," asked Curufinwë at once.

"They...they are not here," Telvo faltered. "Apparently Turko and Moryo never returned, and they went to find them." Curufinwë and Pityo shared a look.

"Or they knew that their treachery would be brought to light as soon as I woke and they ran like the craven cowards they are. Moryo has never been one for late night adventures."

"What do we do?" asked Telufinwë softly, trying to keep angry tears back.

"We set guards at the gate. Tell them to apprehend our brothers and cousin if they ever show themselves here again. We wait for father to come back, for my side to heal a little more. And then we confront Ñolofinwë," declared Curvo, taking the lead.

* * *

Ñolofinwë awoke that morning to the delightful chirping of birds. He looked over at the spot next to him and saw that Anairë had already gotten up. The second son of Finwë got up slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. The golden light was beautiful, and he was looking forward to working on his book on the different architectural styles of Valinor outside in the garden. The dark haired elf stood up and stretched before dressing himself in casual blue and silver robes. He then walked into his airy kitchen to see Anairë humming happily as she pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven.

"Somebody is rather cheerful this morning," he greeted his wife. Anairë smiled as she spun around, her light turquoise dress aflutter around her. She set the hot bread down on the counter and smiled at her husband, mirth in her sea blue eyes.

"The Valar have given us a wonderful gift!" she declared, walking up to Ñolofinwë and giving him a quick kiss.

"Do you mean to tell me that Turukáno has finally lightened up a bit and asked golden Elenwë to marry him?"

"Alas nothing that sweet. Though I do hope he finds the courage soon. I would love to have another daughter!" his wife laughed, reaching behind her ear to tuck a tendril of dark brown hair out of the way. "No the Valar have gifted us a beautiful gem. A Maia came by and gifted it to me this morning. She claimed that Aulë had made three, one for each of the sons of Finwë."

"Oh?" asked Ñolofinwë, curious.

"Yes," Anairë laughed, a sound so cheerful and light even her husband could not guess that it was forced. "I'll be right back!" she hustled out of the kitchen in the direction of her quarters, leaving he husband with an amused expression on his face. He didn't have to wait long, soon her lithe form came running back, seemingly as giddy as an elfling, something glimmering in her right hand. "Look!" she said as she lifted up her hand, her fingers cradled a gem that radiated light of indescribable colors. However, it did not hurt the eyes but shined with the gentle brilliance of the trees.

Ñolofinwë took it in his hands, a look of wonder on his face. He swore that he felt the gem pulse in his grasp as it were alive. "Tis truly a thing of beauty, but you know," he said with a glint in his deep blue eyes, "I am afraid its sister will shine even more with Arafinwë's hair and Fëanáro will no doubt know exactly what gems to pair the other with. This one got the bad draw of the lot" he couldn't finish because Anairë slapped his arm.

"Stop it! I am sure the three of you will look equally splendid. Stop being so humble!" And Ñolofinwë laughed as he wandered over to cut off a slice of the freshly baked bread. He didn't see his wife's flawless facade fall or the tears that began to glisten in her eyes as soon as his back was turned.

* * *

Carnistir awoke to darkness and a throbbing arm. Groaning, he attempted to push himself up, only to realize that his hands were tied behind his back. Alarmed, he scooted backwards until his back hit a stone wall. His heart thudded in his chest, but he immediately chided himself for being craven. It could be worse, he mused. He took a couple of calming breaths and looked around, realizing that although little light reached the room he appeared was in, he could still make out the smooth stone wall, the shape of an iron door, and the form of Turko sprawled out on the other side.

He listened for a few more moments, attempting to discern any sign that they were being watched. But when his keen elven hearing could not detect so much as even the breathing of a guard, he concluded that it was safe enough to attend to his brother. As gracefully as he could, he got to his feet and walked the step or two it took to reach Turko before kneeling down again. Like him, his brother had been stripped of his fine festival robes and jewelry, and he was left with only a thin undershirt and what remained of his fine trousers.

"Mom's gonna kills us," he mumbled. The embroidery on the robes alone had been taken the weavers months to complete. If they survived whatever this was, Nerdanel would demand both of their hides. Probably make new robes out of them too, Carnistir mused. Sighing he sat down next to Tyelkormo and began to absently fiddle with his own bindings, searching for a weakness in them as he thought to himself. As he relaxed, well relaxed as much as he was able to given the circumstances, the first thought to come to mind was that he had gotten his wish: a quiet place to think. And Turko was unconscious, so he couldn't even interrupt him. Or yell at him about his hair. Really, with the exception of his throbbing head and arm, the latest turn of events had been a blessing.

So what had all exactly happened? It started with Maitimo. Maitimo at the forge. He had stared at Melkor with "hate in his eyes" as the Vala himself put it. But Nelyo did not hate. He was at heart a giant teddy bear. So something must had happened for there to had been such a change. Wait. Didn't Maitimo warn father that Melkor intended to steal the Silmarils? According to Turko he'd been having false visions or something of the sort. He looked down at his brother, suddenly wishing he was awake enough to be answer his questions.

So that left two possibilities. Either the visions were true, and Melkor was behind all this. Or they were false, but somebody wanted to to make them appear real. Shift the blame as it were. Or, theoretically, the thief could have not even known about these visions and the incident was completely unrelated. But that would be quite the coincidence.

The next unexpected event that day had been the concert itself. Carnistir knew Kano. His brother practiced till his fingers bled. But yet he didn't practice at all the day before the concert. No, he went for a hunt instead. Which was not Kano at all. And then he brings the house to tears, with a lament Carnistir had never heard before, and he didn't even sing. Kano was an excellent harpist, but his true gift was his voice. So why did he not sing? Why did he go for a hunt? When did he compose that piece? Carnistir hung his head in frustration. Makalaurë was not supposed to be an enigma! He was a simple elf who loved music. That was it! He sighed again, he would just have to let it go for now.

The third major event was of course the dark Maia at the forge. And the fact that it was a dark Maia pointed towards Maitimo's visions about Melkor being correct as it was written in the lore that Melkor had been able to sway many to his side. It would be no grand leap in logic to propose that he would do so again.

So that brought him to the present. It was cold here, and the gneiss implied mountains. Carnistir could even see a few folded quartz veins. Metamorphic basement rock. The Peloris. And judging from the chill in the air, they were north of Tirion.

"That muscle in your jaw is pulsing again brother. You realize if you think too hard, your brain will explode," a weary voice said from directly below him.

"And that is why you aren't allowed to write about biology, Turko," Carnistir teased, but he was smiling as he nudged his brother's shoulder with his knee. Tyelkormo's face suddenly bent in pain, and for a moment Carnistir worried that he had hurt him.

"Turko! Does you shoulder pain you?"

"No, my leg just decided to remind me that it was crushed by a wolfhound." He grimaced and then his eyes widened. "My hands…"

Moryo just nodded, "Yeah, mine too. It seems as if we have been caught, dear brother. Though I imagine it to be more mortifying for you, being a hunter after all. All the game of the forest must be enjoying the irony."

Tyelkormo only groaned and tried to shift his trouser leg up to inspect his leg. But he quickly decided that it wasn't worth the pain and laid his head back down. "What happened? Why isn't your leg crushed?"

Moryo wasn't sure why he was in such a teasing mood. Whether it was to hide the reality of the situation or to help get his mind off the pain or something else, he wasn't exactly sure, but he responded in kind, "Because I knew to jump when a massive animal was falling on me. And you, the great hunter, did not. As for what happened. I am inclined to believe that Maitimo was actually given foresight. We were caught by a dark Maia after all, the same kind that served Melkor before he was captured by Tulkas. So it stands to reason that Melkor is indeed behind this. What did he tell you that night?"

"Nothing about Melkor actually," Turko reminisced, contemplatively staring at the stone ceiling. "It was about father. He claimed that father would do whatever was necessary to ensure he possessed the Silmarils, even to the point of 'destroying the family.' That was why I disagreed with him and called his visions false."

Carnistir tilted his head back, "I see. And I would be inclined to agree, if that were all I knew. But after Nelyo's warning about Melkor and the Silmarils yesterday morning and our adventure last night, I'd be inclined to say there is at least some truth to what he saw."

"Unless someone was trying to frame Melkor."

"Unless… but think for a moment Turko. Out of all the Valar, who is most likely to be manipulative? Who is most likely to take advantage of father's enthusiasm?"

"Melkor."

"Precisely."

"Alright but I still don't believe that father would choose those jewels over his children."

"That's the thing about foresight, you know. It comes true in ways we could not previously conceive. When I asked for a quiet place to think, this was not what I had in mind," he nodded to their dark, cold room.

Tyelkormo sighed. "I liked you better when you were quiet. No more late night escapades, it clearly brings out your talkative side."

Carnistir said nothing in reply, and both brothers fell into contemplative silence. After a little while, Carnistir's shoulders began to really throb due to the forced position they were held in. They had ached when he had woken up, but the pain had steadily increased since then. He was about to lay down to see if that would help when he heard loud footsteps coming their way. He heart skipped a beat.

"Turko, someone comes!" he hissed. His brother groaned but made no move to get up, likely due to his leg. As someone unlocked the iron door, Carnistir sat up straight and glared in that direction. Defiance burning in his steel grey eyes. The door opened to reveal Naracalammo and Fëanáro, but due to the enchantments of the former, the brothers did not see their father. Rather they saw in the image of Melkor himself, and he looked all the more terrible and sinister due to the dark Maia's illusions. And if Fëanáro were to speak, it would not be his own rough, commanding voice but the deep, smooth one of the Vala. Carnistir sat up straighter at the sight of them, righteous fury rising in his breast.

"I knew that you sent this treacherous worm of a being to do your dirty work! To seize the Silmarils, thou scourge of Aman!" he vehemently spat, never taking his eyes off of Melkor's and not knowing that he was actually speaking to his father.

Pure rage kindled in Fëanáro's eyes as his son insulted him with such overwhelming hate in his voice. The fire of his spirit enveloped him to such an extent that he did not feel his heart shatter at Carnistir's words. He did not realize that the hope he had that Naracalammo was a liar had died somewhere in that raging furnace.

"THEY ARE MY SILMARILS!" he shouted, stepping into the cell, and his voice disguised as Melkor's was terrible to behold. Carnistir suddenly felt very afraid. His father roughly grabbed the front of Carnistir's undershirt and pulled him off the ground, pulling his face so that it was not inches away from his own. "Thou craven, traitorous knave of a whelp!" he hissed and then spat into Carnistir's eye. "To have thrown your lot in with that scheming"

"Hey!" a undaunted, clear voice range out. And Fëanáro's eyes were terrible to behold as he cast his wrathful gaze onto his blond son who had managed to half-way sit up. "Let. Him. Go." Tyelkormo commanded, attempting with all his will not to let his fear show as he stared at the dark image of Melkor holding his younger brother.

His wrath consuming him, Fëanáro turned and kicked Turko's head with his boot, his strike more than enough to snap the blond's head to the side before it crashed back on the stone floor with a thud. A malicious smile appeared on Melkor/Fëanáro's face as he remembered Naracalammo's words about his son's wounded leg. It was easy to guess which one it was as the right leg was strangely rigid, as if it pained the elf to move it all. Without hesitating Fëanáro stomped down on that leg, eliciting a cry of pain from Tyelkormo. His body seized up, and he squirmed in agony but "Melkor" lifted his foot and slammed down hard on that leg again, this time aiming for fragile ligaments in the knee. With an awful crunch and another terrible scream, something gave within the battered joint.

"Fiend!" Carnistir cried as he fought to free himself. He wrenched his body to the side with enough force that his shirt tore, freeing him from Melkor's gasp. But the sudden movement threw him off balance and without the use of his hands to steady himself, he fell to the ground.

In his madness, Fëanáro latched a vicious hand to his son's throat and squeezed until his airways were blocked. "I'd kill you now. But such an end is to merciful for traitors. You are disowned. You are banished. You will pay. And the same for _him_." Fëanáro spared a glance at Tyelkormo who had now fallen into unconsciousness. But Carnistir only heard every other word as darkness descended and he was lost to the world.

* * *

 **Well, Feanor has let his inner rage get the better of himself...again.**

 **Review!**


	7. Chapter 7

Findekáno wondered when exactly his cousins had learned to go so long without sleep. They had left Tirion just after Telperion had waxed to his fullest and had then travelled through the rest of the night and a good portion of the morning. He felt his stomach growl, and Raukarocco flipped his mane in irritation. Even their horses were tired.

"Maitimo! Makalaurë!" he shouted ahead of him. "Let us take a break for an hour! We can eat some food or maybe take a quick nap. It will do Turko and Moryo no good if we are exhausted."

Makalaurë reigned in his large bay and turned in the saddle. "Where's your endless energy, cousin? Are you not the one to prod us awake at Valar-forsaken hours in the morning all the time during hunts?"

"Yes! But in order to wake you implies that we have actually slept! Look, even Taracas is tired," he gestured to Maitimo's proud mount, who looked about ready to plop down and go to sleep regardless of if Nelyo was still on him or not.

Were their mounts always this out of shape? thought Makalaurë as he patted Aparuivë's neck. Well it made sense, he reasoned, even the most difficult hunt or trail ride in Valinor would have been a walk in the park in Beleriand, practically a day off. The horses, and Findekáno for that matter, had absolutely no stamina in the paradise of Aman. In fact, Fingon the Valient himself look about ready to keel over.

Makalaurë gave a lopsided grin to his brother, "What do you say, brave Nelyafinwë, do we let the princess rest for a bit?"

Maitimo sighed. "I do believe we have little choice. Maidens can be quite delicate. Besides it would be dishonorable to make one so frail endure more than absolutely necessary."

"I will kill you both," Findekáno threatened.

"Would that you could, dainty cousin of mine. Do you even have the strength to lift a sword? They can be quite heavy, you know," replied Maitimo mirth shining in his grey eyes.

"Yeah, that's another matter," declared their cousin as he dismounted and led his horse to the side of a large clearing that would serve as a good resting spot. "You look terrifying with that sword on. You have gone from Maitimo, the lovable bear, to Nelyafinwë, the…" Maitimo rose an eyebrow.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I don't know! There isn't really a comparable animal. Maybe Nelyafinwë the winged eagle-lion creature from that one lay, the one that can turn into fire."

Maitimo smiled as how flustered his cousin had become, "I'll accept that as a compliment Valiant Findekáno." He then dismounted himself, and the three of them settled into the cozy clearing that was ringed with tall spruce trees. The hawk that had been leading them ever northward landed on one of the nearby branches and looked at them quizzingly.

"I know, but Findekáno here needs his beauty sleep," Maitimo told the hawk. Findekáno threw an almond at Maitimo's face, but the redhead caught it between two fingers. "Thanks, princess," he said throwing the almond into his own mouth.

Makalaurë laughed as their cousin seethed. "Careful brother or you will create a monster. Might cost you more than a hand in the future." Findekáno didn't quite follow, but Kano's comment had made Russandol wince so he was content. The three ate their packed dried fruits and nuts in relative silence after that. When they were finished, Findekáno considered laying down for that quick nap he had mentioned but decided, that for that sake of his pride and dignity, he would let one of the brothers do it first.

The only problem was they didn't. Maitimo had taken out his own and Carnistir's hunting knives and was looking them over. Makalaurë was also watching him, "Nelyo, are you up for a spar?" the singer asked.

Findekáno felt his mouth drop open. Sparring was a word used only in literature or by elflings who pretended to be legendary heroes as they fought each other with sticks when their guardians weren't watching. It was not a word used by civilized elves over the age of fifty. "Glad to see you two have matured so much," he muttered.

Maitimo had a wicked glint in his eye as he looked towards him. "Give Makalaurë one of Turko's knives," he asked. "And keep watch over the sword. It would hardly be fair if only one of us had such a weapon," he continued, taking the sword out of his belt and handing it to his stunned cousin.

"Sure, here you go Kano. Cut out his tongue while you're at it," he replied sarcastically, handing his cousin one of the twin daggers. On any other day, Findekáno would have awaited the coming "spar" with an amused smile, for it would surely be a comedy to watch the minstrel and the tall, gangly one fight. But after the events at the forge last night, he was no longer convinced that his cousins were as innocent as he had once thought. Still, he leaned back on his hands that propped his upper body up and thought that if his pride wouldn't let him sleep, he could at least enjoy the show. Maybe they would both prove terrible and all his doubts could be put to rest and everything could go somewhat back to normal.

Only as the two brothers squared off, eyeing one another as they unsheathed gleaming knives, Findekáno suddenly got the impression that that would not be the case. They both looked dangerous, very dangerous. And something was so very wrong about the two of them holding naked blades. Hunting knives were never meant to be used this way. And then before Findekáno could even blink, the two brothers charged at each other. There was a terrible sound of steal on steal, a clear ringing that echoed out over the land, a sound that had never before been heard in Valinor.

And Findekáno was memorized, watching as his cousins engaged in a deadly dance, the likes of which he had never seen before. Both held two knives and they blocked and parried and lunged with a certain deadly grace. He saw Maitimo sweep for his brother's chest, only for Makalaurë to block it with his left hand and thrust at Maitimo's stomach with his right. Maitimo leapt back with agile athleticism and then bent low swinging for his brother's legs with first one knife and then the other as he spun in a low arch. Makalaurë leapt back over his whirling knives and lunged for Maitimo as soon as he found his footing again. But Maitimo was there with a block as their blades crossed once more, and he used his greater height to press down on Makalaurë.

But the singer would not yield and with a surge of energy he jumped up, knocking back Maitimo's knife as he whirled and aimed for his brother's shoulder. Maitimo's spun out of the way and brought his left hand above his head, driving it down where Kano's own shoulder had just been. But the dark haired elf let his weight collapse, tumbling backwards on the ground in a practiced roll. Yet the eldest would not give up the advantage and soon the two of them were wrestling in the dirt.

It didn't look as pretty now thought Findekáno, as he watched. It just looked like two elfling boys trying to prove who was stronger. It now appeared as if Makalaurë had a fist full of Russandol's hair and that the latter was in serious danger of tearing Kano's tunic with the death grip he had on the fabric. He was about to clear his throat to remind them that they were supposed to behave like proper elf lords, when the two of them froze on their own accord.

It would have almost been comical. Makalaurë laid on his back, the knife in his right hand seemingly paused in time as it arced up towards Nelyo's ribs. But the latter clearly had the edge as he was straddling Makalaurë's waist and was about ready to hold one of his knives to his brother's throat.

"You hear that?" Maitimo whispered to Makalaurë. His brother nodded and in less than a second Nelyo had leapt off of him and the two had gone from fighting one another to protecting each other, standing back to back. Both of them looked towards Findekáno, alarm written on both of their faces. Findekáno felt his heart leap into his throat, but he gripped the sword with determination and ran to join his cousins. He was not going to be upstaged by his kin, no matter how often they played with knives. The three elves stood in the middle of the clearing in a loose triangle, listening in apprehension as soft footsteps sounded on the forest floor.

"Put those down, little elflings. You know it won't do any good against me," a deep, smooth voice replied as Melkor himself stepped out from the shadows. He was wearing dark robes trimmed in silver. Makalaurë stiffened at seeing their sworn enemy, the one responsible for horrors unspeakable.

"Come to do your own dirty work?" Makalaurë demanded through gritted teeth.

The Vala sneered, "My brother is laquidasical at best, but even he would notice the hordes of Angamando if I were to bring them here. So yes," he replied, pulling out a twisted, evil looking black sword, "for the time being. Unless you would rather just surrender and join me? I alone understand your pain, the pain of your people. I can help you ensure that it never happens again. I can help you get revenge on those who cursed you. Who helped you not!"

Maitimo gripped his knives all the harder, dark anger boiling in his heart, threatening to spill over carefully constructed barriers. "You know my answer, filth! You took my memories did you not? I told you it again and again in the pits of Angamando!"

"So you did. But then it was too late. The song had already been sung, the curse declared. But if we were to work together, we could stop your father from dooming the Noldor!"

"We have sacrificed our morals enough Moringotto! Now have at thee!" Maitimo shouted and a fierce war cry tore from his throat, and his patience, long withstanding, broke at last. The high walls of his heart crumbled beneath a flood of suppressed emotion, and he flung himself at the fallen Vala. So enraged was he that he did not hear Makalaurë's echoing cry as he too leapt into the fray. The brothers assaulted him from both sides, their great anger and pain heightening their senses.

But Melkor was Vala, and he wielded a terrible longsword, giving him a great advantage. Yet so profound was Maitimo's rage, that he managed to block the first swipe of that great sword, locking both his knives against it. But Melkor pressed against him and the ground itself cracked under the strain and the terrible sound of earth and rock giving away echoed through the land.

Makalaurë, seeing his brother's peril, leapt and aimed to stab Morgoth in the throat, but the dark Vala whirled, slamming a forearm into the elf's chest, tossing him aside like an irritating insect. But Makalaurë rose again, and Findekáno, overcoming his initial shock, joined the fray. The son of Ñolofinwë raised the first sword of Fëanáro above his head with a protective yell and charged the dark being, but Melkor caught Findekáno's arm with his left, and he twisted, dislocating the elf's shoulder. But the distraction had allowed Maitimo to roll out of the way, and Makalaurë swiped at his feet at the same time Maitimo struck at his throat.

Makalaurë's blade found purchase, drawing black blood, but Maitimo's reach was short, and Melkor threw his longsword up, cutting deep into Nelyo's side. The red haired son of Fëanáro fell to the ground with a resounding thud, but he somehow still managed to roll out of the way as the Valar moved to step on his chest. Makalaurë raced around to protect his brother, and he leapt between Maitimo and Melkor, defiance burning in his eyes, daggers held at ready. The fallen Vala laughed at the sight, but he spun around to lunge at Findekáno who had valiantly leapt at Melkor's exposed back. His sword pierced the young elf's shoulder, eliciting a pained cry. He fell and did not get up.

"No!" Makalaurë yelled. And the fire of his spirit was flamed all the more. He attacked the Lord of Angband with increased fever and twice the son of Fëanáro was thrown to the ground. But still the singer rose. He fought on, and in a moment of desperation, he threw one of the daggers, but Melkor swept it away with his sword and a cruel laugh. With the last remaining knife, Makalaure aimed for Melkor's right side, but a booted foot came up and slammed into his chin. His head snapped back, and a second kick sent him falling back into Maitimo. He tripped on his brother, and fell beside him.

"Go," a weak voice came from his side. And Makalaurë looked in amazement as Maitimo attempted to hold together his deeply wounded side against the rapid flow of blood. "Go. I will hold them off." And against all possibility, Maitimo stood. His bloodied hands clutched the dagger. His red hair had become unbraided, and dirt and blood encrusted strands hung in front of his face, yet they did not hide the fire of his eyes.

And Melkor laughed once more.

"Never do you know when to quit!" And he swung that terrible sword at the elf. Maitimo somehow mustered his strength to leap forward to tackle his foe before he could complete that mortal strike. And perhaps only because he was as tall as the Dark Lord in his fair form, he managed to knock them both to the ground. But Melkor was agile and quickly rolled over Maitimo, preparing to pummel his body into the dust. "Go!" Nelyo cried in that final second. He tried to look at Makalaurë who had barely managed to sling an unconscious Findekáno over his shoulders, but Melkor's fist slammed into his jaw and he knew no more.

"Maitimo!" Makalaurë screamed. Dirt caked his face and a cut from his forehead was bleeding profusely. He had his cousin slung over his shoulder and suddenly he saw it happening again. He could not defeat Melkor and protect his cousin and brother at the same time. If he were to save his own life and that of Findekáno's, he would have to abandon his brother to the mercy of Morgoth. Again.

Maglor gritted his teeth. He would not do it. He would share the same fate as his brother. But even as he told himself so, he felt young Findekáno's weak breath on his shoulder, felt his weight on his shoulders. And when Morgoth made to stand over his brother's broken form, he knew he would do it again.

"I'll come for you!" He yelled. His heart breaking as fate caught up to him. And then he ran. He ran, and he jumped up onto Aparuivë, quickly placing his cousin in front of him, and they galloped away.


	8. Chapter 8

**There is a Shakespeare quote in here that I obviously do not own.**

Fëanáro seethed in anger as he pounded the malleable steel soon to be forged into a second sword. He wanted those traitorous sons of his gone. And not just from Tirion. He wanted them gone for good. He didn't give a damn what Nerdanel would say. Those boys could be thrown into the void, and it would still be too kind of a fate. And his nefarious half brother could join them.

Fëanáro brought down the hammer with both hands, his muscles gleaming with sweat. Again and again he slammed it down, no longer caring if it hit its mark or not. "I will ride into Tirion tonight," he muttered to himself through gritted teeth. Slam. The hammer struck the anvil hard enough for bits of metal to fly up. "Take the rest of my family and bring them here." Slam. "Forge swords and helms." Slam. The heat was beginning to get stifling. "Teach them to fight!" He was yelling now. "And then we will take back what is ours!" There was a terrible splintering noise as the wooden handle of the hammer finally gave up and split in two. Fëanáro tossed it aside almost hitting Naracalammo who had quietly slunk behind him.

"I want them gone," Fëanáro repeated.

"That can be arranged," replied the Maia. He then leaned against one of the work benches. "You know, I had the same problem," he continued, staring into space. "I had a lover once, long ago," he said. "We were opposite in appearances. She was fair with skin like porcelain and hair dark as the night. And while I am broad shouldered, she was dainty. And so very breakable."

"So what did she do?" asked Fëanáro impatience in his voice.

"She left me. Said that I had changed. And she married someone else, forgetting that I even existed," Naracalammo explained with a flippant gesture. "We would have raised a daughter together, you know? But she was stillborn, a beautiful little corpse with chocolate skin and deep blue eyes that would never see. It was not soon after that that my beloved fled. She started a new life and charmed everyone around her.

And so everyone loved her and forgot about me. It hurts, but it is of no matter now. It happens within most families. Her and myself, Ñolofinwë and you, Melkor and Manwë." The Maia was looking for pity but the elf wasn't in a pitying mood.

"Yes, but still you are lucky that your daughter didn't live to stab you in the back as my sons have. I want them gone today." And with that he swung a second hammer.

* * *

Carinistir awoke to a living nightmare. The minute blessed unconsciousness left him large, calloused, grey, ugly hands grabbed him. Crude laughter rang all around him. He tried to fight, but there were so many holding him. There were hands on his shoulders and arms, his neck was also held in a vice like grip. More laughter. The back of his knees were hit with something metallic and his legs crumpled in pain. The hands dragged him forward.

He finally managed to wrench an eye open only to wish he hadn't. Hideous mutated creatures surrounded him, jeering and hooting as he was dragged down an ally that led to a dais and a throne. One hand grabbed his hair and viciously yanked his head back, forcing him to look at the being on the throne. It was a sight that would be forever seared in Carnistir's memory. The being's image was dark and terrible, and he wore an iron crown with three blazing gems. He then gave a terrible and discordant laugh. "Hail to the king! Noldóran yet uncrowned!" the being mocked and the crowds joined with raucous laughter. The being took a step forward, looked at the elf with twisted triumph in his eyes before backhanding Carnistir across the face, forcefully enough to break his nose. "Look! It bleeds!" he cried and the others began to jump in their excitement. White agony lanced through Carnistir as red blood gushed from his nose.

The dark being with the brilliant iron crown then stepped back and studied him like one would inspect a fish being sold at the market. "What glorious hair! And have we not won it for ourselves? Is it not rightfully ours?" The being asked the hideous creatures who jeered all the more in anticipation. He sneered and then took an evil twisted dagger from his belt, and Carnistir's eyes went wide in fear. The being laughed and grabbed a large lock of the elf's hair near his temple and with a flourish hacked it off. He then held the sheared locks up for all to see.

"The rest I give to thee!" He shouted to a great clamour of many excited, raucous voices. And suddenly they were upon them. Dirty hands gropping his hair, some hacking away at it with knives, others simply tearing it in their greed. They fought each other for the strands, and in their frenzy ended up knocking the elf onto his stomach. He laid there as time seemed to slow down. Sound no longer reached his ears as the filthy creatures clambered on top of him, shearing his hair like he was a sheep being prepared for slaughter, laughing as they held up the strands that they had won. When at last he looked up, he saw the dark being smile at him as he turned away,the locks in his hand as the color of copper. Maitimo.

"Stop it!" A pained voice rang out. Suddenly the images vanished and Carnistir awoke again. This time to reality. He was sweating on the floor of the small cell, no hideous creatures or dark beings in sight. He brother had been chained to the wall, where he was rearing like an enraged bull. "Stop hurting him!" Tyelkormo commanded.

Carnistir looked up from his position in the center of the room to see the dark skinned Maia standing by the wall opposite Turko, arms crossed.

"I am merely sending him dreams. I did serve Irmo after all. And Melkor has showed me some of your eldest brother's memories: so many possibilities there."

"My brother has no memories that would cause him to writhe in agony like that. Your cruel spells have wrought such pain!"

"No? I beg to differ. Seems as if there is a lot your dear brother isn't telling you," the Maia declared, nudging the dark haired elf with his foot as if to see if he was still conscious. "Pity, I was kind of hoping that would knock him out for a while," he said, frowning on seeing that Carnistir was still just barely awake.

"I wish we had more time to continue with this little experiment, but your father has put me on quite the time limit. Alas, I guess we will have to do this the old fashioned way, with drugs and the sort. I will be back, my princes." The Maia gave a mocking bow and strode out the door, where it locked behind him. He did not bother to chain Carnistir to the wall like he had previously done to Turko.

"Moryo! Can you hear me? Get up! Please. Come over here, brother."

Carnistir heard him, but made no move to get up. He simply continued to lay there on the dirty floor. He mind was caught up in that terrible dream. The image of the dark being in his terrible armor with that iron crown holding that red hair would not leave him. It had felt so real, and he had felt so defeated as the creatures had stolen from him his hair and pride. And he remembered the way Maitimo had stood unmoving, hatred in his eyes when he looked upon Melkor. And he remembered wondering how Maitimo could ever hate like that. 'There is a lot your dear brother isn't telling you,' the Maia had said. And despite all reason, Carnistir wondered if there was truth in what he said: if that nightmare had been torn from memory.

"Moryo!" Tylekormo sounded as if he were in the edge of despair.

"I hear you, brother."

"Are you alright? What did that coward show you?"

For awhile Carnistir didn't respond. "I...I cannot describe it other than that it spoke of defeat and humiliation and of worse to come….And that it felt so very real." He replied at last, his voice weak and painful due to his near strangulation earlier. Finally he stood on shaky legs and made his way over to where Turko was chained. He sighed and sat down next to his brother, leaning his head onto Tyelkormo's shoulder. "And it made me fear for Maitimo. Where do you think he is now?"

Tyelkormo didn't get the chance to answer before Naracalammo came back with a cloth in his hands. He strode up to Carnistir before he could flee and held the battered elf in a headlock. He then held the cloth to his nose and mouth. "Good night, sweet prince" he said in that smooth voice of his as Carnistir's struggles became weaker and weaker and at last he lost consciousness. The Maia unceremoniously dropped him to the floor and then turned to Tyelkormo who fought against the chains. He quirked an eyebrow, "So dignified of you, Turko," and then he put the rag over his nose and mouth and darkness enveloped the blond elf.

* * *

The atmosphere in Tirion that afternoon and evening was electric. It had not even been a full day since Curufinwë had been attacked in the forge but news had spread like wildfire. Curufinwë attacked the previous night. Tyelkormo and Carnistir missing since yesterday's concert. Maitimo, Makalaurë, and Findekáno leaving suddenly in the night to go find their kin. Fëanáro also gone.

It was a lot for the peaceful white city to take in, and before long the gates to the Fëanorian Palace were decorated with countless flowers and gifts left along with condolences and prayers for Curufinwë's quick recovery. Ñolofinwë was shocked and greatly grieved by the news of the attack on his nephew, and Anairë offered to give the intricate tapestry she had been weaving for the past four months to the Feanorians as a gift. However she still had to finish some of the detailing that morning. Therefore Anairë and her husband had spent the first hours of the day together— Anairë weaving and Ñolofinwë attempting to be helpful.

As Laurelin reached her noon hour, Ñolofinwë returned to his wife with a small plate of cheese and apples.

"You should eat a little bit, love. I am sure Curvo isn't in a hurry to go anywhere today," he told her as he set down the tray. But the dark haired beauty did not turn around from where she knelt before the tapestry, stitching golden embroidery into the hunting scene depicted on it.

"Almost done," she replied, stitching the final few threads. "There!" she took a step back to admire her work. Ñolofinwë wrapped an arm around her waist as he looked at the elaborate tapestry.

"It's perfect," he complimented her with a quick kiss. "I am sure that Curufinwë will love it."

"Let me get dressed, and we will bring it over together," Anairë replied as she stood up and stretched out her back.

A half an hour later, Ñolofinwë and his wife walked to the gates of the Feanorian palace, the tapestry gently folded under Anairë's arm. Ñolofinwë paused in the road leading up to the courtyard.

"The gates are closed," he noted.

"Well, after what your brother's family has just experienced, I can imagine why."

Ñolofinwë was not convinced, doubly so when his keen eyes noted the presence of guards armed with spears pacing before the gates. "It would be characteristic of my brother to overreact to matters such as these," he muttered taking a step forward. As he approached the ornate golden gates, the guards immediately stiffened and leveled their spears at the prince. Ñolofinwë raised his eyebrows at the hostile act, and Anairë stifled a gasp of shock and surprise.

"I have come to offer our sympathies and condolences to my nephew, Curufinwë, and the rest of my brother's family. My wife has labored long to weave a beautiful tapestry befitting of this royal house. Never before in the peace of Valinor has an elf threatened another of his kin with such a weapon. By what inconceivable audacity do you dare do so now and against your prince no less?" Ñolofinwë questioned, anger creeping into his voice as he strained to keep his tone formal and diplomatic.

"I tell you by what audacity, Uncle!" A furious voice announced. Ñolofinwë looked up to see Pityafinwë purposefully striding towards the locked gates. "Treason! It was by your hand that death touched my brother! Now begone or I will have that guard drive his spearhead through your throat!"

Ñolofinwë looked at his nephew with wide, hurt eyes. But he said nothing. He simply turned, a protective hand on Anairë's arm and began to walk away.

"Wait!" A furious feminine voice demanded. "Pityafinwë Ambarussa! You come here right now!" Nerdanel yelled as she marched up to the gates, eyes blazing. "You! Open up these gates!"she ordered the guard, but he hesitated.

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? I AM THE LADY OF THIS HOUSE AND I WILL HAVE YOU SENT TO THE HELCARXË IF YOU DO NOT OBEY ME THIS INSTANT!" She threatened, and not doubting that she meant every word, the guard sheepishly opened the gate.

Nerdanel then strode straight up to him, yanked the spear out of his grasp and broke it over her knee. She then looked for the other guard, but he had been wise and had fled the scene. Then her deadly gaze settled on her brother-in-law softening only a little for his sake, "I assure you, my sons will be appropriately punished for this dark deed. I do not hold it against you if you wish to see us no more."

Ñolofinwë gracefully bowed, "Lady of the House indeed. I see that I have come at a stressful time." He looked over at Anairë who had gone deathly pale. "Let us be a burden to you no longer. I will take the Lady Anairë home, she has had quite the fright."

The red haired daughter of Mahtan gave a curt nod and watched for half a moment as they walked away. She then turned on her son and grabbed him by the ear, dragging him back to the estate. "Give me one good reason, Pityafinwë, why I shouldn't ship you across the sea so that you may be adopted by a band of Moriquendi savages!"

"Mother!" Pityo snapped, a hand going up to his ear that was still firmly in the red-haired she-elf's grip. "Ñolofinwë stabbed Curvo! It was him." Nerdanel just yanked harder on the elder twin's ear and Pityo swore angrily as he felt for sure that the appendage would be ripped from his head..

"How dare you! Your father has gotten to you, hasn't he! For Eru's sake, he is hot headed and blinded by jealousy! I have tried speaking to him about this and apparently I have not gotten through!"

"It wasn't father! Curvo told me himself." Nerdanel raised an eyebrow and proceeded to drag her son straight into the healer's room. She threw open the door, revealing Telvo who was writing furiously, sitting in an armchair by Curvo's bed where her older son appeared to be glaring daggers at the wall.

"Explain." She demanded, pushing Pityo forward and pinning her three youngest with her signature look of doom.

Curufinwë cleared his throat and pushed himself up on the bed. "Uncle Nolofinwë is a traitor and a thief. It was he who stabbed me and stole father's Silmarils. This I swear by the…"

"There will be no swearing under my roof. That is yet another vice of your father's."

"Still," Curufinwë continued, "I know who it was that attacked me."

"And yet he showed up at the gate to offer you a gift _with his wife_! Not with weapons! Doubt his love for our house, but never doubt his love for Anairë. He adores her, and would never put her in danger. If it is true what you say, he would have known that you saw him, he would have known that you wanted justice, and his next move would not have been to bring his wife here!"

"Still,"

"No! I will not suffer you to threaten our family. The three of you will not leave these grounds until your sense have returned."

"We are not elflings anymore," Telufinwë said quietly.

"No you certainly are not," a deeper male voice answered. The four turned around to see Manwë, in fair form, stride into the room followed by Yavanna. "I have seen what has transpired here at these gates, and am greatly displeased that an elf would ever threaten another of his kin, of his own family no less."

"And yet you did not see Nolofinwë attack me?" Curufinwë gritted out, his jaw clenched in anger.

"No," Manwë hesitated. "What happened at the forge was hidden from my sight."

"We do not know by what sorcery it was done. It was not shrouded in darkness or fell wickedness, nothing of the sort that would attract our attention. In fact, the forge last night was perfectly normal. Empty and quiet," Yavanna added.

"Yet there is one truth that we know for sure: no elf alive today possess magic in illusion strong enough to cast such a spell. Furthermore, anyone who could have hidden from us so effectively could have easily fooled you into believing you saw Ñolofinwë, when in fact it was not him. Do not jump to conclusions."

"It's pretty hard not to jump to conclusions, when someone sticks a dagger in your side." Curufinwë responded bitterly. "If it was not Nolofinwë, then where was he that night? Or was he 'hidden' from you too?"

Manwë looked slightly uncomfortable at Curufinwë's bold statement. Yavanna placed a delicate hand on his arm and spoke for him: "You are right, young son of Fëanáro. No one among the Vala can recall where Ñolofinwë was, though no one had need to look for him. But that does not mean he was at the forge."

"It's not only him. No one can find your brothers, your father, or your young cousin. All of them have vanished from the sight of the Valar."

Nerdanel gasped. "Fëanáro only went to Alqualandë, he doesn't even know what's happened."

"Perhaps your sight is simply waning," Pityo muttered.

"Perhaps," replied Yavanna. "But as two of your brothers went missing at around the same time of the incident at the forge, and the others went to look for them. It stands to reason that there is more going on here that we don't understand."

"Of course father would be in the middle of it too," mumbled Telvo.

"Regardless, we must not act until more details come to light. However, word will quickly spread of what has occurred here. I cannot allow such an act of violence to go without consequence. The three of you are hearby banished from Tirion for two years for ordering armed guards to threaten you uncle. Understand that this sentence is a light one. You crime warrants much worse, but I understand that you only meant to protect this house."

"And what if Ñolofinwë is responsible! What punishment will he get?" Curvo snapped.

"If he is, then the Valar will deal with him. As we should have dealt with this. Your sin was making assumptions and taking matters into your own hands without consulting any of the Valar. You embarked on a dark path without seeking any council or even attempting to think carefully about your actions yourself. The three of you were reckless in committing this nefarious act of treason."

The twins looked aside, but Curufinwë stared the Vala in the eye and said nothing.

 **Reviews make me happy, especially on freezing days like today :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Woah, it has been awhile! I'm truly sorry. School got very intense, and I think I finished about six maps, ten reports, and zero chapters of this story in the past two months. Well don't worry, as promised I will always eventually update!**

Fëanáro galloped southward down the trails of the northern lands. The rage of his heart still smoldering just beneath the surface. He was like a hellbent wraith of legend, unstoppable in his purpose. If any were to see him they would have fled in fright before the dark hooves of his steed. But few came to the cold northern lands of Valinor, and Fëanáro was already halfway back and had yet to see anyone.

But then his keen elven eyes picked up a rider on a bay horse struggling. "Idiot," the crown prince hissed under his breath. Even from this distance the figure appeared to be struggling to stay in the saddle. Fëanáro had no time for inept riders and spurred his grey stallion on even faster, not caring if he all but ran over the weakling in front of him.

But as he neared the other, he began to make out out details that he had missed from a distance. Something was wrong. The rider's hair was long and dark, tangled and encrusted in dirt and….blood. Suddenly Fëanáro thought to slow down, but it was too late, he was already barreling into the other horse.

Suddenly the dark bay reared and gave a terrible shrill whinny and as Fëanáro rushed past on the left he saw the rider in perfect clarity. It was one of those slow motion moments: an instant of frozen time that can never be forgotten.

The rider was an elf but not. He was more like a ghost of a figure from a myth or song. Dirt covered his face, and blood poured down a horizontal slash across his forehead, forming macabre streams down his chiseled face. His eyes were cold blue steel, terrible to behold as they seemed to burn with cold fire.

As the horse's hooves arched out over Fëanáro's head, he saw the elf reach for a bow on his back and even in this warped sense of slowed down time, the figure had drawn an arrow fast as lightning. An arrow that was now leveled straight at him.

Terror struck his heart then, and time sped up once more. Desperately, Fëanáro commanded his horse to stop and they skidded to a standstill as the bay's forelegs came down just behind them. Panting, Fëanáro looked up at that figure from myth and suddenly his eyes widened until they threatened to pop out of their sockets.

There was dirt and blood on his face, yes, but now that he saw clearly, Fëanáro was stunned to find himself staring at the face of his second son. "Makalaurë," he whispered because while it was Makalaurë's face, the dark figure bending the deadly bow could not have been his son. Makalaurë could never look so deadly. He was nothing but a singer.

Makalaurë's eyes narrowed even further but he withdrew his bow and swung it behind him once more. "Father," he said darkly. "I heard that you went to Alqualondë, which is fifty leagues east of here. Where were you?"

Fëanáro struggled to suppress the urge to shudder and look away as that commanding voice seemed to reach into his heart, causing it to tremble. Kanofinwë. Surely he had named him right after all. "I could be asking you the same question, son," he finally managed, pleased that he sounded a lot more confident than he thought. He scanned Makalaurë's body, noting the bloodied and ripped clothing and how some of that blood was not red.

Black blood. He had read about it before. Black blood from fell creatures and fallen Ainur. The black blood of dark enemies that only existed in lore. Enemies that as an elfling Fëanáro had daydreamed of fighting himself, pretending to be a hero of old. And now his son looked so very much like one of those heros torn from the pages of legend. And Fëanáro was awed, though he immediately suppressed this feeling akin to admiration.

"The Silmarils have been stolen. Maitimo, Findekáno, and I were following a lead when we were ambushed," Makalaurë's answer was vague and carefully worded.

"Findekáno?" His father hissed. And Makalaurë instantly put a protective hand on his cousin's back, the unconscious elf was slung across the horse and situated in front of Makalaurë. Originally Kano had tried to keep him sitting up, but it was an awkward and difficult task when he himself had trouble keeping his seat. He decided at last to sacrifice a bit of his cousin's dignity and have him lay across the horse and take it slow. Fëanáro noticed the gesture and his blue eyes widened once more. He had not at first seen his nephew.

"Yes, father, Findekáno. He is our loyal cousin, despite the grievances that exist between you and Ñolofinwë. He fought valiantly beside your two sons. Without him, Maitimo and I both may both be in Mandos right now."

"And are you aware that Ñolofinwë is a traitor? And not just him! But your brother's Tylekormo and Carnister as well! They have all plotted against us. They have stolen my Silmarils and spat in my face!" .

"What do you know about Turko and Moryo?" Makalaurë demanded, his blood running cold at the mention of his younger siblings. But he kept his voice steady, not betraying the storm of emotions he felt raging in his heart.

"That they helped Ñolofinwë steal from me. That they cursed me to my face. That they are my sons no longer."

Makalaurë felt his heart skip a beat. "What have you done to them?" He demanded as he urged his horse right up next forward up next to his father's.

Fëanáro shifted in his saddle and looked at Kanofinwë. He saw the coldness of his eyes, felt the ice in his words. Watched as the dried blood on his forehead cracked in strange patterns. And for a moment he saw himself. And a strange thrill rose in his heart.

This was not Carnistir throwing a childish temper tantrum. This was not Turko who screamed in pain over a little knee injury. This was someone with a frozen heart that throbbed as coldly as his own burned. Truly, this man might have been his son all along, he had just been too distracted to see it.

"If you must know, I banished your brothers right after I disowned them."

This time Makalaurë felt his heart stop for a moment. "How could you?" he hissed. "How could you just rip your family apart like this? They loved you, and would never have betrayed you even onto the end of the world!"

"They set Huan on a Maia who tried to stop the theft of the Silmarils. The Maia even had a wound from the hound's teeth that I saw with my own eyes. And then when I went to see them, Carnistir looked me in the eye and called me a fiend, the scourge of Aman, and other pleasant names. And he meant every word," his angry voice beginning to falter at the end. Unwelcome emotion welling up in his soul. At once, the proud son of Finwë paused and looked away, not daring to let Makalaurë see the tears that were beginning to well in his eyes.

He took a breath to steady himself before finishing: "I too had been hoping that the Maia had lied or that there had been some confusion. But there was only hate in Moryo's eyes." Fëanáro said quietly.

Makalaurë was shocked speechless. His father thought anything remotely related to crying was despicable weakness. But Makalaurë had heard his voice lose its strength and knew that there was a reason why his father looked away. So he spoke the truth or at least what he believed to be the truth. And the singer was at a loss for words. Finally he sighed and rested a hand on Findekáno's back, gently soothing the fabric of his ruined tunic.

"I am sorry father. These are dark times indeed. But still, I must ask for you word that you will not harm Findekáno."

"Only traitors will pay. But all traitors will be known in the light of the day," Fëanáro mumbled the words of one of his favorite poems. Makalaurë let loose a sigh. It wasn't much, but it was enough. And it was all his father was willing to give.

As they rode ever forward, the singer let his mind wander with thoughts of his brothers, wondering what had passed for them to speak so strongly against their father. And he prayed that his cousin would be okay, cursing again the Valinorian habit of not bringing any medical supplies on journeys, of not making enough supplies to even take with them. And he thought of Maitimo, his brother who had suffered so much already and would suffer again because of him. Because he had left him. Again.

And Makalaurë felt a lump rise in his throat. Why was the world so cruel?

Still, at least it was a small blessing that his father had not yet asked about Nelyo. If it was because he did not hear or did not care or simply thought Maitimo had gone ahead or taken another path he did not know, but he was thankful for the silence.

* * *

Maitimo awoke to a thousand horses stampeding through his brain. He groaned and rolled from his side to his back only to freeze when he heard the clinking of heavy chains. Dreadful memories from another life washed over him. And as he opened his eyes to stare at a stone ceiling, he also remembered why his head hurt so much. Why his side felt as though it had been set in fire. Not again. He could not survive this a second time.

"You know, I have been thinking about you a lot, dear Maitimo. How you knew about the secrets Angmando, some of which even I had yet to learn of. The dragons, for instance. Such beautiful creatures. I had not thought of them yet, you see?" Melkor talked in a sweetly sick voice, his booted feet inches from where Maitimo lay. He then kneeled down and moved to sweep a strand of hair away from the elf's face.

Maitimo caught his hand in a death grip. "Don't touch me," he ordered. But the fallen Vala laughed and grabbed the chain that was connected to the iron manacles. He then ruthlessly yanked on it, pulling Maitimo to his feet and dragging him to the wall where he threw one of the links in the chain over a hook in the wall, forcing the elf's hands above his head.

"And I've been thinking about how you alone were never broken. Even today the smithies are full of Moriquendi thralls, and I tell you they all lose heart in a matter of days, weeks at the longest. But not you, Maitimo. Even after I made you into a mockery of that name, you still lived just as fiercely as you had before."

Maitimo did not grace the fallen Vala with a reply, but he continued to glare daggers at him.

"And it irks me. Finwë, Fëanáro, Ñolofinwë, Findekáno, Turukáno they all fell so easily. My success was great, in all matters except for one." Suddenly Melkor turned on the helpless elf and producing a knife from his robes, slashed Maitimo tunic to shreds, watching as the ruined strips fell to the stone floor.

"I thought you didn't stoop to the level of torturer. This is a job for orcs." Maitimo said, not flinching as Melkor studied his bare chest as if it were a canvas.

"How quickly you forget. My domain is torment. I created the orcs from your kin. But you are right in a way. I don't have the time to break you properly now, young one. I simply need to make sure you don't go ruining my plans with that foresight of yours."

Melkor cast him an unreadable look and then quickly grabbed Maitimo's arms, spinning him around before gracefully sweeping down and slashing his knife through both of his Achilles' tendons. Maitimo bit back a scream as he collapsed, no longer able to support his weight. The chains were now the only thing keeping him up. Melkor grabbed his arms again and ruthlessly spun the elf back around to face him, but Maitimo's eyes were squeezed shut against the pain.

"It will be awhile before you can stand again," the dark lord said. He stood up to leave when the door opened and someone else with light footsteps walked in to whom Melkor said: "He is yours."

Deciding that it would not be a good idea to keep his eyes closed. Maitimo in the midst of his pain opened them to see… Anairë? What was she doing here? "Shush," the thin she-elf said quietly, walking to where her nephew dangled helplessly, blood pouring rapidly from his ankles and pooling on the floor. But his aunt, whom he had thought to be so fragile, did not even flinch at the sight. She approached Maitimo and kissed him on the forehead. She then looked at him for several moments, deep blue eyes as melochonic as the ocean they resembled. "I am so sorry, Nelyo. But sometimes we must all make sacrifices," she said in a soft, sad voice. She reached up and to caress his face before sighing and letting her narrow shoulders drop. Maitimo for his part was wholly concerned and not a little worried. Why was she here?

And then Ñolofinwë's beloved wife took a took a lock of his red hair, and taking a knife from her dress's belt, cut straight through the copper strands. Maitimo stared in shock at the sheared handful of hair in her delicate hand. Crushing memories of his humiliation in Angband hit him in the chest and suddenly he found it difficult to breathe. Anairë also stared at the long locks but then she let them drop to the floor.

"I'm so sorry," she said reaching for his head once more. Maitimo tried to twist away. Only with his ankles slashed and unable to bear any weight, he couldn't even step to the side. Anairë didn't seem to notice his efforts and took another handful of his hair, and with trembling hands hacked through it.

"How could you?" Maitimo demanded. Slash. Another section of his hair gone. "I loved you like a second mother. What will your son say when he finds out what you have done to me?" But Fingon's mom grabbed his hair more viciously, actually yanking his head back as she sheared it. Her movements became more efficient now as she cut through the the rest of it, a detached expression setting over her face.

At last she was done, or so Maitimo thought as he looked in dismay at the long strands on the floor. It was funny how his side could be torn open and his ankles completely useless but somehow the humiliation of having his hair taken from him seemed to hurt his soul just as bad. But Anairë did not leave. She stood there clutching the naked blade, her already porcelain skin gone deathly white.

"I'm sorry, Maitimo!" She cried at last, tears spilling freely down her face and she took the knife and suddenly reached forward with it, cutting him across the stomach. Pain lanced through Maitimo's body, and he felt hot blood flow from the wound. But it did not hurt like his ankles or side. In fact, when compared to the tortures of Angband that cut was barely worth mentioning.

But tears were now freely streaming down Anairë's face. And she reached for a spot on his chest and cut him again. And then she steeled herself to her purposes and made several more long cuts with her knife. Maitimo gritted his teeth because while Anairë was no orc of Angband, the knife was still sharp and deadly, slicing through skin and muscle with deadly efficiency. If it had been anyone else chained to the wall, they would have certainly screamed by now.

And she stopped for a moment and Maitimo gave a quiet prayer of thanks. The door opened and a tall being with dark skin and green eyes walked in. "Beautiful work, my dear!" he said in a silky voice. Anairë just looked horrified as she stared at her helpless, bleeding nephew.

Naracalammo studied the bloodied body of the elf before him. "But that small cut on his face is from earlier. Why don't you add your own."

"I...I can't do it anymore, Naro."

"Come on, one cut to the cheek. For the aesthetic. If you don't do it, I will. And unlike your pretty cuts mine will scar." Anairë trembled but approached Maitimo again. He looked at her with hurt in his eyes for a moment but then sighed and closed them, appearing to resign himself to his fate.

The dark haired she elf-reached for her nephews handsome face and stroked it gently with one hand before reaching up with the other and slicing downward through his cheek.

Naracalammo smiled. "Very good, my dear. I see how distressing this has been for you. So here," he said handing her a role of bandages. "Tend to his ankles. My master doesn't wish for him to bleed out just yet."

The she-elf took the offered roll with trembling hands. Without a word, she then gracefully knelt by where her nephew's feet dragged limply on the floor, not caring if his blood soaked into her elegant dress. She gingerly took hold of one of his shins and began to wind the bandages around Maitimo's ankle, stemming the blood flow.

"What did you do to her?" Maedhros asked the Maia as Anairë worked. Naracalammo still stood by the cell door, arms crossed over his chest.

"I showed her the truth, little elf. It was the least I could do for my beloved."


	10. Chapter 10

Melkor was beginning to really hate Valinor. It wasn't just the light that split his head and scorched his eyes every second of every day. It wasn't just that this was his brother's accursed realm. It was a simple lack of resources. Mairon was currently gathering legions upon legions in Arda, which was wonderful, but he wasn't in Arda, dammit! He was stuck here with a jaded Maia trying to prove himself and whatever tag-alongs he brought along.

He had been planning on leaving and never looking back. As soon as he found a good opportunity, he had hoped to abandon ship and leave this light-filled place to his brother and return to Arda as its Dark Lord. Only for some reason he couldn't. He couldn't just leave and return as if he had never spent three ages in chains! Manwë owed him. Owed him for the great injustices he had suffered. Yes. It was unjust. Of this Melkor was certain. His "crime" had been daring to call himself Lord. But was he not created to be a king, to rule over the dark as his brother ruled over the light? He was. But jealous Manwë just had to throw him into bounds for daring to claim his birthright.

He could not overlook such insults. So Melkor waited. He had waited three ages in Mandos. What was a decade more? He waited and he plotted, looking for the perfect parting gift to give to his brother in retribution for his great hospitality. And then he had heard about the Silmarils: these jewels that held the light of the trees. The light that he hated the most. Yavanna's light. And they had been crafted by the proudest of the Children of Illúvatar. It had been perfect.

And then, on the very day on which he went to see these gems for the first time, he had laid eyes on that son of Fëanáro who had been touched by destiny. And the game had changed even before it had begun. Suddenly all the cards were on the table, the element of surprise lost. Nelyafinwë would move to stop him. So he had been forced to act first.

Melkor looked over his shoulder to see Naracalammo approach, dragging the unconscious red haired son of Fëanáro by the elf's wrist. The Maia walked up to Melkor and dropped Maitimo before him. "It is a shame we don't have more time to…. enjoy this victory, shall we say?" Melkor looked down at the wounded elf, allowing himself a slight smirk as he noted his hacked hair and bloodied form.

"Perhaps."

"If I may say so, my lord, why not kill him? If those memories hold the truth…."

Melkor had asked himself the same question earlier. Killing Nelyafinwë now could certainly save him from some future headaches. But to slay him where he lie, with only Naracalammo as a witness….it was too kind of an end.

No, he wanted to break Maitimo's body on the fields of the North before all of the Noldor. He wanted to drag him barely alive into Gondolin or Hithlum or whatever the elves decided to call their stronghold this time around and have him put to death in the city square. He would then hang his body from the ramparts as he forced the firstborn to bow down to him. There would be songs of his triumph, and of Nelyafinwë's shame and defeat, for the world to remember forever. No, the elf would not die here.

"It's too early in the day to be killing princes," he told Naracalammo. "But I won't have him interfering while we are vulnerable here in Aman. Take him through _lomba men_ with the others."

"What of the dog?"

"Release it."

"My Lord?"

"All in due time. The beast may serve its purpose yet."

* * *

Tyelkormo was having a wonderful dream. He was visiting the beach just south of Alqualonde, a beautiful stretch of white sand where Laurelin always seemed to shine just a little brighter. He was laying in the light without a care in the world listening to the waves lull gently on the shore. A beautiful maiden was reading a worn book by his side, occasionally nudging him and as she read aloud lines she liked.

Then he realized that there was a boulder crushing his leg. He sat up and frowned as he eyed the massive rock. Curious. It should hurt more. Turko laid back down at that thought realizing that he felt only a dull ache. But it felt as though the true pain had been muffled by a thick curtain. Suddenly the maiden on his side started jabbing at him forcefully.

"Come on, Tylekormo, open your eyes."

Open his eyes? But then the curtain would lift and that boulder would become more problematic. No, he was perfectly content where he was.

"Brother, in case you have not noticed, we are in a bit of a situation here, and I have half the mind to blame you. The least you can do is look at me."

Shit. That was not some lovely maiden, that was Carnistir. An irritate Carnistir by the sound of it. Because that was the thing about his brother. He was like those mountains of fire in the lore. He would be stoic and silent for years as the pressure slowly built on the inside. And then, about once a century, he would explode. And when Moryo showed signs of imminent volcanic eruption, he would flee for the forest. It was the rational thing to do. But right now Tyelkormo had a boulder on his leg. His heart sunk. What had he even done to deserve this? He tried to remember.

Slowly he opened his deep blue eyes to stare at his brother. It took him a moment of studying Carnistir's limp ragged hair, bruised face, and bare chest for his memories to come back to him. At once he felt like throwing up. Slowly he propped himself up on his elbows, absently noting that he really was on a beach, facing the wide open sea. His wounded knee had been bound by what looked like the remains of Carnistir's undershirt, but at least there was no boulder.

"Hey, take it easy," Moryo said as he gently helped to support Turko's back.

"Where are we?"

Carnistir had no answer to that. They had woken up on a white sandy beach, turquoise waves lapping the shore several meters away where the ground met the sea. His first thought had been one of the coves near Alqualonde, but that idea had immediately been dashed when he had looked behind them and saw towering white cliffs. The beaches near Alqualonde eased gently into meadows of grass.

"I do not know," he replied, looking away from the sea to stare at the cliffs once more. Turko slowly rolled onto his stomach so that he might look as well without paining his torn knee too much. The sight took his breath away. About fifty meters away from where he lay the stone rose like a great wall protecting the land from the great unknowns of the waters. Cut into the base of the cliff was a dark cave, curiously situated almost immediately behind the two elfs, if not a little to the left.

"What is that?" Tyelkormo asked nodding with his head towards a speck of red that his keen eyes saw among the larger stones littered near the cave. Carnistir sat up and looked in that direction.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice suddenly commanding. Turko would have protested, but it wasn't as if he could move very well at the moment either. He just continued to lay on his stomach, enjoying how some of Laurelin's residual warmth soaked into his back. Funny, her rays almost felt cooler, distant somehow, he thought as he watched Moryo make his way towards the mouth of the cave.

Carnistir stumbled slightly as the sand turned coarser as he moved away from the sea and towards the cave. But he hardly even noticed, even as some of the more angular pebbles bit into his feat. Because laying among the stones and sand was the body of an elf. And even with the numerous cuts and wounds on the elf's body, even with the short hair, Moryo recognized him immediately.

"Nelyo!" He cried crashing to his knees besides his oldest brother. He looked with dismay at the lacerations perversely decorating his bare chest. At the more serious, jagged, and open laceration maring his side and the slash across his temple. At the bloodied bandages at his ankles.

Carnistir felt as if he was going to be sick. Someone had done this to him. He remember the vision Naracalammo had taunted him with, and he fought the urge to look away.

Nelyo's grey eyes blinked wearily open. "Moryo. You look like you've been run over by a horse."

Carnistir smiled at the attempt at humor, secretly relieved that somehow Nelyo could still joke at a time like this. "Nay, brother. You should try looking at yourself. Mother is going to skin us alive, that is for sure," he said following along.

"You think? I believe she will simply chain us to stools in her studio…" Nelyo grunted as he shifted and pain seemed to flash across his features, "...force us to model for her sculpting for the rest of eternity."

Moryo laughed quietly. "Maybe that will be your fate, _Maitimo_ , but there's no use rushing in to it. Don't force yourself," Carnister said as he noted with concern that his brother had somehow managed to prop himself up on his elbows and that the idiot looked as if he were about to make an attempt at standing. Moryo sighed internally. Nelyo could be as stubborn as the rest of them once he put his mind to something, so telling him to stay put would do little good. He might as well help him up.

"Turko is here too. Let's try to make it to where he is so that we may talk, the sand is finer there and more comfortable." The dark-haired elf offered a hand to his brother.

Maitimo took it, and Moryo had barely pulled him up when the tall elf immediately collapsed forward. Only Carnistir's strong arms had kept him from falling face first into the gravelly sand.

Maitimo grimaced. "I am sorry. I do believe the tendons in my ankle have been cut through. I cannot walk."

Moryo looked at him horrified, wondering again when exactly he had mischaracterized his oldest brother so badly. Nelyo was supposed to be a gentle bear. The kind that hibernated too long and was more fluffy than fearsome. He was not one who nonchalantly said things like 'my tendons have been slashed by some evil straight out of myth, and so I apologize.'

But Carnistir didn't voice his thoughts as he bent down to more firmly grasp Maitimo's left arm, slinging it across his shoulder so that he could better support his weight. He then began to drag him back to where Turko lay, his mind once again beginning to race as he realized just how much he didn't know. He belatedly considered once they were almost there that he was perhaps being a little too rough with Nelyo. But he was frustrated. The world was supposed to make sense! And right now absolutely nothing did. He felt the headache of the age coming back on, and Tyelkormo's priceless face of shock as he stared at his two older brothers only helped alleviate it a little.

"Nelyo," the blond said still gaping in shock at the bloodied form of his brother.

"Turko, you look a little worse for wear, and you say that Moryo and I here never have any worthy adventures."

"You don't," he said looking from brother to brother as they awkwardly half-collapsed, half-sat in the sand besides him. "It must be why this one has gone so awry." His voice then softened as he turned on his side and gently took a lock of Nelyo's sheared hair between his fingers. "Eru what has he done to you?"

To his credit Nelyo only flinched slightly. "It will grow back," he said stiffly, though Turko could see the pain hidden there.

"Of course it will! But that's not the point! To take an elf's hair that is…. that is…."

"Not the worse that can be done. Your leg, Tylekormo, what happened?" Turko went silent and looked down at the sand, while Moryo began to gingerly unwrap the bandages on Maitimo's ankles. He gasped when he saw the cruel slashes, still seeping blood.

"Well I know the horrors of this world, Turko," Nelyo began with a soft, distant voice, and for a moment it sounded like the voice of the sea itself, deep and melancholic. "Tell me what happened yesterday, so that we may help each other."

The hunter sighed and layed his upper body back down on the sand and began to recount the events of the previous two days. He told of Huan's suspicions, the encounter with the Maia disguised as Ñolofinwë in the forge, the race through the forest, waking up in a cell in the mountains, and finally the visit of Melkor and his Maia in which father had stomped on his ruined knee. His voice got very quiet then as he watched the waves lull on the shore.

"And I am sorry, dearest brother. For not taking you seriously before when you warned us about the Silmarils and Melkor. I was close minded, not believing that father would betray his family over a few gems. I still don't, but clearly there is something about those damn jewels. And as certain as the day, Melkor has made himself our foe," he laughed humorlessly at that.

Nelyo inclined his head. "Thank you brother. And I too am sorry for being overly harsh that night. I know that father loves us and would never put the Silmarils before us as long as he is in his right mind. If we are to stand up to Melkor, we must do so as a family."

Carnister looked up from where he was kneeling at Maitimo's side, having just finished binding the wound there with strips of Tylekormo's shirt. "So what about you? Tell us your story from the beginning."

Nelyo looked at the dark haired elf through the corner of his eye. "If I were to do that he would be here till dusk."

Moryo looked at the ocean. "I don't mind. It's not as if either of you can walk right now. Let's rest for today. With the exception of your side, most of your injuries are shallow. Your ankles are in bad shape, but no arteries were cut by some miracle. Besides it's not as if we can easily find help when we don't get know where we are."

Maitimo sighed. "From the beginning?"

"Yes, it's been awhile since I've heard a story from you Nelyo." Tylekormo answered.

"No interruptions?"

"Yes, we will even try not to fall asleep," Turko promised, sounding at the moment very much like his younger self.

"Very well. The beginning was all at once two days ago and three ages past," Maitimo began.

Carnistir had always known that Maitimo was a storyteller. He would enthrall them all as elflings with great tales of heroes and monsters, of love, redemption, and sacrifice. But this tale was like no other. Moryo lost himself to his brother's words: scenes of burning ships, black forges, demons of flames, enchanted forests, hope, betrayal, and sorrow all played out before him. He knew every character, but yet none of them.

"And so I clutched that burning Silmaril in my last hand, and took one last look at the sky of a broken world and flung myself into the abyss. Makalaurë followed, why I cannot say. Then the voice of Eru Illuvatar came to me and offered us both a second chance. And so I awoke in my bed two days ago. Only Melkor gleaned from me this entire tale when he brushed my mind within the confines of father's forge." He went on to tell of the hawk, the battle in the forest, his capture, and lastly how sweet Anairë had been forced to hurt him, though she tried to be gentle.

"And then I wake to find you two here."

The lights were mingling, casting the ocean shore into a beautiful silver-gold light that reflected off the waves. For a long time neither Carnistir nor Tylekormo said a word.

Finally Turko rolled over and embraced his brother in a crushing hug. Moryo did the the same. And the three elves sat together huddled on the beach as the soft silver rays and Telperion waxed into the night.

 **I don't own the Troy quote that found its way into this. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Tomorrow the geology crew and I are leaving for six weeks in the boonies where there will be rocks and sky and not much else, so I definitely won't have any internet connection. (Honestly guys, I am a little terrified. I am either going to come back a female Indiana Jones or I'll get lost and wander the desert for eternity.) But I will have to find my way back to some semblance of civilization to stock up on food/water occasionally, so I will try to update then!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I SURVIVED! Haha, well we were chased by wildfires, and I lost my compass at some point, but we made it, although I never did have a chance to write so I apologize. I am still traveling, but it's been so long I figured I'd try to publish on my phone. Hopefully it works.**

Findekáno awoke from what felt like the deepest sleep of his life only to find himself staring at the dirt covered ground and a horse's legs. "Gahh!" He shouted as he tried to pull himself up, only for his shoulder to ignite with fire. The horse stopped moving, and he felt a hand on his back.

"Welcome back cousin! I was beginning to worry that you hit your head harder than I thought." Suddenly the hand was gone and someone was helping him dismount errr… fall off the horse's back. Findekáno stared at the dirty face of Makalaurë when it hit him.

"Oh Valar! And I was hoping that it had been all a dream," he turned and saw his uncle dressed in brilliant reds sitting on a white horse. Confusion filtered across his face. "Where's Russandol?"

Kano's face went a shade paler as he reached for the ruined strip of Findekáno's cloak that he had used to bind his shoulder. "Not now cousin, let me see your wound. I need to change the bindings on it."

The younger elf jumped back. "No, where is Maitimo?" he demanded again.

Makalaurë ran a hand through his dirty hair and looked once at his father, who had since also dismounted and was looking straight at him with a steely stare. Kano swallowed, suddenly feeling like he was back at the lake, a furious Fingon before him demanding to see the one who called himself king.

"He was taken," he said at last and suddenly the world disappeared and he was standing at that camp again, saying those same words to that same cousin.

" _They are both dead, Findekáno!"_

" _I can't believe you. First you abandon us to the ice. And then you abandon your own brother, your king even, to slavery and captivity so that you can rule in his steed! You disgust me, Makalaurë."_

" _You do not understand, Findekáno. We could never have rescued Maitimo with the numbers we have."_

" _And who is to blame for that? Huh? Who is to blame for that! Why did you not have more elves at your side? Well, maybe because we were already dying on the ice! No, Kano, I think I understand quite well."_

Makalaurë was thrust back into reality when he felt two frozen glares bore into him. He took a deep breath. He would handle this better this time. "Maitimo is our beloved brother, cousin, son. We will go back for him. But great wars of songs are not fought in a single night. And the eldest son of Fëanáro is not made out of paper that he will break so easily."

"Makalaurë, who did you fight? Who took my son from me? Whose black blood stains your tunic?"

The singer looked his father in the eye. "Melkor, brother of Manwë. Eru be my witness that I speak the truth," he said firmly, his strong voice erasing all doubt that his words were true.

"It is as my cousin says. It was Melkor who attacked us on the road. I too invoke Eru as my witness."

Fëanáro's face had gone white, and he took a step back. Then in what was akin to a fit of madness, his hands fisted and he clutched at his hair. "Eru, I knew it! I knew it!" He shouted, whether to himself or to the One neither of his companions knew. "It's just I wanted so bad….I knew it but I couldn't…. I didn't want to believe! Argh!" The crown prince yelled as an internal battle raged within him. He squeezed his eyes shut. "But he listened to me. He agreed with me about the Vala! He listened! And that forge! He was the only one who understood. But then I knew! I knew he was using me. But I… I thought…"

Suddenly there was a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sssshh, father. It is alright. We were all deceived. What matters now is that you help us make it right."

Fëanáro released his dark hair and opened his eyes. "No one. Be he elf, Maia, or bright Vala makes light of me, makes me the fool, and gets away with it."

Makalaurë gave him a grim smile and a thump on the shoulder. "I hear thee."

Fëanáro looked around, fire seeming to smolder in his eyes. "Let's go no further tonight. We need to go over what we know. Go bring us some dinner, Káno. I will tend to my nephew." Makalaurë looked him in the eyes but saw no ill will there, only steely determination.

"Very well," and with that he grabbed his bow and stalked into the fading light.

Fëanáro watched him leave, and then gestured for Findekáno to come sit beside him by the tree. He then began undoing the bindings on his shoulder and shredding new ones out of the ruined cloak that he had grabbed from the horses.

"Tell me, Findekáno, since my son has obviously been withholding information from me. Why did Melkor attack you? To what purpose?" The young elf cast a sideways glance at his uncle, and sighed.

"Maitimo and Makalaurë had been having identical visions. They knew that Melkor wanted the Silmarils, presumably to mock both you and the Valar. They attempted to take the jewels first, but when we arrived at the forge, it had already been ransacked as if by a great power: heavy anvils thrown like pillows, parts of the brick wall destroyed. Curufinwë was there, unconscious with a knife wound, but the Silmarils were not. We took Curvo back to the palace when a hawk, no doubt an acquaintance of Turko's, flew into Maitimo's room. We knew that Turko was in trouble, Carnistir as well, and so we followed the bird north. Melkor attacked us on the way," Findekáno recited, he took a breath as Fëanáro finished tying off the makeshift bandage.

"Both Makalaurë and Maitimo knew how to fight, uncle. It was both beautiful and terrifying to behold, and you surely would have been proud. I tried to help as much as I could but I felt like an elfling thrown into a myth. It was like watching titans battle. And not only did they know how to fight, it was as if your sons had fought that fight before. As if Melkor was an old foe. I believe once they even called him Moringotto."

"The black enemy," Fëanáro pronounced softly.

"Yes." Findekáno leaned his head back against the tree trunk. "As to why he fought us. I cannot say for sure, but I assume it was to stop us from getting to Tylekormo and Carnistir as that was who we were pursuing. Maybe they knew something about the Silmarils."

Fëanáro's face was slowly draining of color. And every time he heard his son's names, pangs of guilt shot through his heart.

"Tell me, Findekáno, what does your father know of the Silmarils?"

"My father? Well to be honest, I don't think he knows about them yet. You know he is not as into jewels as much as you are. His passion is architecture. Besides, Turukáno has been distracting as he has been courting that one girl, Elenwë. He just won't stop talking about her and father at least pretends to listen, which really was his first mistake."

"I see. And have Tylekormo and Carnistir been visiting your palace a lot?" Findekáno frowned, wondering where this was going.

"No. Maitimo comes over frequently. And the twins do as well. Especially Pityo, he likes to walk the gardens and catalogue the plants. But Turko is always out hunting. And Moryo is…. well Moryo is Moryo…. he is probably in his room all the time."

Fëanáro nodded and stood up. "How could I have been so blind?"

* * *

That night Pityafinwë crouched in the branches of one of the trees near his uncle's house. Three days. He and his brothers had been given three days to leave the city. Word had spread like lightning, and he found himself throwing the hood of his cloak over his red hair whenever he left the palace. The people scorned him at best, pitied him at worse. Many believed that the house of Fëanáro had finally gone over the edge. That Curufinwë hit his head too hard and was delusional. That his younger brothers followed him either out of loyalty or because the attack had made them paranoid. Tsk. It was neither. He followed because Curvo didn't lie. His word held. Another trait he shared with their father.

But still, he could not crush the feeling in his heart that something more was at play here. That Manwë spoke the truth as well. So he sat in his tree and watched the house of his uncle. A crystal light in the second story room across from his tree binked on, and he saw his aunt dressed in a thin robe, her wet hair up, clearly just coming from the bath. His keen elven gaze picked up how pale her face was, how her hands seemed to tremble. She knelt down by a wooden dresser and opened a drawer, bringing out a jewel of soft flame, wrapped in a satin cloth.

Pityafinwë gasped. A Silmaril! In Nelyafinwe's house. What more proof did he need? He turned to run but then thought better of it. One's words apparently only got him so far these days. Stealthily he crept out on the high branch and then leapt to the balcony with the grace that only one of the firstborn can possess. He opened the unlooked glass doors and stepped inside. He stood silently for a moment, before sweeping back his hood and clearing his throat.

"Anairë. That jewel you hold belongs to my father," he confronted her. The she-elf only jumped a little bit at his voice.

"So it does."

"Why do you have it?"

"My husband gave it to me."

"And you were surprised when I confronted you at the gates? I should very well think that I had the right to!" Pityafinwë shouted in a whisper.

"Perhaps you are right," she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Here, take it! I don't want this burden anymore," she said thrusting out the brilliant gem with the cloth it sat on. Pityo took them both, and looked at her with a curious look.

"Anairë, are you alright?"

"Yes, Pityo" she said, running a hand through her dark hair. "Now go! Go now before you are seen." Pityafinwë took a step back and nodded to her though confusion still reigned in his face, throwing the hood if his cloak back over his head and fleeing back into the night.

She turned away from his retreating form and the open balcony doors, tears welling in her eyes.

"Don't cry, my dearest."

She turned to face Naracalammo. "Release her," she demanded.

"Or what! What will little Anairë do, if I say no? Run to dear Ñolofinwë? Call for Arakáno and get your youngest involved as well? Cut me like you did to young Maitimo?"

Anairë stiffened. "Ah, I should really remember to thank Nelyafinwë one day. If it weren't for him, my master would have already sent me to Arda. And we would have never met again, my love."

Anairë looked desperately around her, looking for an escape. She unconsciously backed closer to the balcony.

"But if you must know. She is free. Always was, always will be. I lied." He hissed in her ear. And then he raced past her and leapt off the balcony, disappearing into the same night that the young son of Fëanáro had just passed into too. Anairë just collapsed by her bed and cried endless tears.

* * *

Pityafinwë ran all the way to his home and raced into Curvo's room where he was supposed to be resting. But the injured elf was not there. He whirled around and raced into the bedroom that adjourned his own. "Ambarussa! Ambarussa! Get up!" he shouted. But no one was there either.

Where were they? He reached his own room only to see a note left for him there: "Went to the forge." It read in Telvo's small but neat script. And immediately Pityo was stealthily racing down the halls, out the door, and back up the familiar road to the forge. There he was greeted by the sound of hammering. And his mind ran, Curvo wasn't supposed to be standing, much less working yet! Even with the astonishing rate at which he healed it had only been two and a half days!

He ran inside, noting that the wall was still in shambles. The sight that greeted him would have been comical in less dire circumstances. Curvo stood at the forge hammering steel and wearing…. nothing. Well, pants and some bandages on his side but that was it. His muscles rippled as he swung the heavy tool down again. Telvo was pacing in apparent frustration, stopping every few seconds to yell at his brother, to tell him to wait.

"Curvo! What are you doing?" Pityo yelled. Curufinwë stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"I am finishing what I started." And Pityo looked down to see a beautiful sword all but complete.

"How?" He began in wonder.

"Father and I were both working on one. I was finishing father's the other night because I wanted mine to be decorated with red almandine, which as you can see, we are out of. But I no longer have the luxury of being picky," he declared as his picked up a smaller tool and began to emplacing cut aventurine into the hilt.

"Nevertheless, I believe this will be among my finest works," he declared, not looking up from where he worked.

"But your side," Telvo spoke up.

"A flesh wound made by a coward. Go home, you two. Enjoy one last night of peace. Hug mother for me, don't let her fret."

"No, I have something to show you."

"Can't you see that I am busy?"

But Pityo ignored him as he took out at the Silmaril, its radiance shining brilliantly in the dark. Telvo gasped. Curufinwë finally looked up. "Is that?" he asked, straightening to his full height, his back cracking as he did so.

"No other jewel shines as brightly."

Curufinwë frowned as he eyed the deep blue satin it was set on. An elegant piece of cloth engraved with silver. There was no mistaking from whose house it came. "Where did you find it?" he asked darkly.

"Ñolofinwë's house. I caught Anairë with it, and she gave it to me. I believe that she is ashamed of her husband."

Curufinwë took it all in stride, expecting such an answer. "Take it away from here. Lock it in your rooms and guard it with your lives until the morning. And pray that father comes back soon," their older brother ordered.

Pityo bowed slightly and walked out the ruined doors. Telvo looked unsure and for a moment glanced back and forth between his two brothers before at last running after his twin.


	12. Chapter 12

This. This was the single most embarrassing thing he had ever done. Carnistir mused. He looked absolutely ridiculous. Actually the three of them looked absolutely ridiculous but himself the most so. "Yes! That way, Moryo! There should be an inlet there," Maitimo shouted from his back, pointing with one arm down the beach away and towards the high cliffs, the other one was slung firmly across Carnistir's chest as he carried him.

"You better be right," Tylekormo said from where he leaned heavily on Carnistir's right side, using him as a crutch. Carnistir lurched forward in the general direction that his brother was pointing and almost lost his footing in the sand.

"Whoa!" Maitimo called from directly behind him, his legs all but crushing Carnister's sides.

"Damn it, Moryo! You're supposed to be the one who is able to walk." Tylekormo declared as he too stumbled, but there was mirth in his blue eyes. Damn it Moryo indeed, why did he have to be the pack horse? He could be Maitimo. Getting a free ride while shouting directions from on high.

"Would you be happier if I left you here?" Carnistir snapped.

"Perhaps. I quite like the beach."

"You're already as red as Carnistir though. Before long your skin will fall off," Moryo commented on his brother's burn, in far too good of spirits for one with slashed Achilles.

Moryo almost dropped him right then and there. "Care to repeat that, brother?"

"What? Nothing, Carnistir. Carry on." Tylekormo laughed, and Moryo made to hip check him. But that simply resulted in him losing his balance and all three of them almost ending up in the sand, again. Only by his natural elven grace was Carnistir able to keep his footing.

"Wh.."

"Nelyo! I am not your horse! If you say 'whoa' one more time, you and Turko can spend an eternity here." Moryo snapped as he took another step forward. Maitimo laughed again.

"You say so, brother? I couldn't tell," when suddenly he stiffened, and Carnistir felt him tense. He paused. A small figure stood before them, a silver-haired child who looked no more than twenty summers old. Her mouth was open in surprise as she stared at the three older elves dressed in rags and stumbling along the beach.

"Um, hello little one," Turko greeted her, only for the elfling's deep blue eyes to widen. She took several steps back. Maitimo quickly gave a chiding glance at his brother before turning his attention back to the girl.

" _Hello there little one. My brother did not mean to frighten you, though he can be scary at times. I am Maedhros, and this is Caranthir and Celegorm,"_ he said in Sindarin gesturing with a nod to each of his brothers.

" _Brothers?"_ she asked.

" _Yes, we are brothers."_ The girls face lit up at that statement.

" _I have a brother too! And he is big and strong. And he can be scary, but never to me. He loves me."_

" _Does he now?"_ The girl nodded.

" _Do you love your brothers?"_ sha asked.

Maitimo laughed a deep gentle laugh and patted Carnistir's head with his free hand, " _Yes, I love them very much."_

Carnistir, miffed at being patted like a pack animal, responded by immediately dropping Maitimo in the sand. He hit the ground with a groan. "I don't know what you are saying or even what language you are speaking, brother, but if you are telling her I am your horse or something to that extent…" but he was cut off when the girl barreled into his legs.

" _Bad brother!"_ She yelled, wrapping her arms around his calves and seemingly attempting to knock him down as well. Moryo was at a loss.

Turko smiled though and very slowly knelt down, using Moryo as support, and looked her in the eyes.

" _Bad brother_?" she asked, turning towards him, one palm still pressing into Carnisitr's knee. Maitimo knelt by Tylekormo.

"She is asking if you are a bad brother like Moryo is."

Turko grinned and shook his head, and then pointed to himself, "Turko, good," he then pointed at Moryo. "Moryo, less good."

"That's it. You two are crawling."

" _He says that they are both good brothers."_

The girl smiled, and then frowned as she looked from Tylekormo to Maitimo. Her eyes wandered across the cuts in his face and chest. " _You are hurt,"_ she said.

" _Only a little."_

" _Did the black creatures get you?"_ Nelyo was quite for a second.

" _They tried to, little one. But we escaped,"_ he replied softly, in a comforting tone. But distress crossed the the silver-haired child's eyes.

" _No, no, no,"_ the elfling insisted, crossing her arms _. "You are hurt. That is why you still haven't stood up,"_ she reasoned.

Maedhros offered a small smile, " _Very perceptive, young one._ Carnistir, help me up, the child is concerned about us."

I am concerned about us, thought Moryo. But he settled for only slightly more diplomatic phrasing; "Pray tell, Nelyo. How am I supposed to help you up without dropping Turko?"

" _You talk funny,"_ the elfling observed, blinking up at Moryo with wide eyes so blue that the sky itself appeared reflected in them.

" _My brothers don't speak Sindarin,"_ Nelyo explained. " _Nor will they help me up,"_ he added.

The girl immediately rushed towards the redhead and began tugging his arm. " _I'll do it! I'll help you! Brother always says to help those who can't help themselves,"_ she said, pulling on Maitimo's arm but getting nowhere with it.

She frowned. Moryo sighed. Turko was staring into the distance. "...always the one to fix things…" the dark haired elf mumbled under his breath as he gently put his blonde brother down.

"Turko? Are you alright?" Nelyo asked, suddenly realizing how quiet his brother had gotten.

A wicked grin crossed Tyelkormo's features and both his brothers got a sinking feeling in their stomachs.

"Turko…" Nelyo spoke, uncertainty in his voice as his mind wondered where he had seen this look before. Then his keen elven hearing picked up the sound of something approaching. Something that wasn't an elf. And Turko smiled all the more.

And suddenly Nelyo remembered. Turko got this evil glint in his eyes whenever he had a card up his sleeve, a card that usually had to do with some beast or another. And so when a large brown bear can stalking across the sand, coming from a low-lying cave in the rock that Maitimo had overlooked, he was none too surprised.

The elfling, however, shrieked, and hid behind Moryo's legs. Moryo himself looked like he just wanted this day to end already.

"It's alright, little one," Turko said softly, his voice masking most of his pain. "He is a friend."

" _He is friends with the animals,"_ Maitimo explained.

The bear reached them and began to nuzzle Turko with its massive head. The golden haired elf laughed and reached up to ruffle its fur. He then appeared to say something in low tones that only the beast could hear.

And Maitimo felt his heart clench for a moment. He had forgotten how at ease his younger sibling had been with the wildlife. Never in Arda, after the Oath was sworn, did any free bird or beast, ever approach him like this. It had made it easy to forget that these moments were once common place.

"He says that he will take us to the girl's home," Tylekormo said.

Moryo almost got down on his knees in thanksgiving. "Praise Oromë I don't have to lug you two any further."

The girl looked around in confusion. " _The bear will let us ride him if you are willing guide us to your people. Our home is far away, and we cannot go there now. I promise you we will only stay until we are well enough to leave, and no harm shall befall you or your people."_

The child looked at him with wide eyes and nodded, a smile spreading across her face. " _Yes! I'll take you to my family! Brother will be so surprised."_

And that was how poor Carnistir found himself riding a brown bear with two lame brothers and an overly excited elfling that spoke some strange language that lo and behold, Maitimo was also fluent in. Because somehow his brother had lived twice. And worse, it somehow made more sense now than it did yesterday.

 **Review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A Double Chapter today. The last one was a little short, was it not? So here you go. Thank you for being patient with my sporadic updating habits.**

Curufinwë did not sleep that night. After finishing the sword he had strapped the gleaming weapon to his side and climbed one of the white towers of Tirion, one that stood by the city gates, and watched the silver night and then the golden morning like a hawk watching the fields. Even as the people began their day and the streets filled with happy men and women conducting their daily business, the eldest son of Fëanáro stood vigilant, staring ever outward where the road bent northwest.

It was late morning when his keen hearing picked up the galloping gate of two horses. Maitimo and Makalaurë no doubt, traitors come back to make fools of them all. Curufinwë sneared. His uncle could have chosen no worse accomplices. His two eldest brothers were fools who were into books and music. They were soft. Weak. It really was no wonder that scheming Ñolofinwë and his slimy son were able to ensnare them.

He gracefully leapt down from the tower and stood before the gates to the White City. His clean, untested blade catching the light of the trees and gleaming with great radiance. And Curufinwë smiled an ugly smile of anticipation as he imagined his brothers fear and shock at being caught. At being bested by one younger than them. So lost in his thoughts was he that he did not look up until to was too late.

Too late he saw that the second horse was not Taracas, glistening black in the sun. No, it was his father's great white stallion, Albitorë. And upon its back was Fëanáro himself dressed in glistening reds and wearing a grim expression, his frown deepening when grey eyes caught Curufinwë standing before the gate.

And riding beside Fëanáro was a wraith from lore. It had tangled, wild black hair and wore a tunic torn and bloody, red and black colors morbidly intertwined. And Curufinwë involuntarily felt a shiver of fear run though him. But then he noticed that the eyes were a sharp and deep and blue, the color of the ocean before a storm. There was no mistaking those eyes.

And from behind that figure was another. One that also had wild, savage looking dark hair. Though this one's eyes were lighter, both in natural color and because wonder and shock and disbelief seemed to lie there instead of the fierce determination of his companion. Findekáno. And though not understanding, Curufinwë gripped his hilt even harder at the sight of his cousin.

But too soon they were upon them. "Curufinwë! Son of my own name! How dare thou stand before me with naked blade," Fëanáro reprimanded as he halted. Albitorë danced nervously before the younger elf. Curufinwë gulped but stood his ground.

"It is not for you that I unsheath this blade, beloved father. But rather for them!" He gestured with the sword towards the two other elves. "Those traitors have connived with Ñolofinwë! They have taken the Silmarils and made us out to be fools!"

Findekáno noticed that Makalaurë did not flinch at the cutting accusations. And he found himself secretly daring Curufinwë. Do it. Just try. Swing that bedazzled sword at your brother who wears the blood of the mightiest of the Vala.

"Whatever has happened to those jewels, my son, it was not the work of Ñolofinwë," he began quietly, catching Findekáno's gaze before nodding to him. "But rather of Melkor….Moringotto as he should be called henceforth," Fëanáro began, his great voice beginning to fill with power. "Yes. I have been taken as a fool! Against my better judgement. Because I knew! I among all the eldar trusted Moringotto the least! But yet it was I who harkened to him! And it was thanks to Kanofinwë, who appeared to me terrible in visage, that it finally got through to me. I have been pestered, nah tormented, by a conscience, a voice that has been talking me that I am wrong… telling me that it was Moringotto who was not to be trusted. And it took seeing Kanofinwë and Findekáno, hearing them say what I knew to be true, for me to agree at last! Wake up son of mine! I will not have you make the same mistakes as I have."

Anger twisted in Curufinwë's face, not believing what he was hearing. For his father to be deceived by his cousin and brother so easily! A snarl escaped his throat, but his anger was cut off by a second beat of soft hoofbeats. All four turned to see a golden haired elf dressed in white and gold, looking regal and elegant as he sat upon a golden mare. His blue eyes were wide, and they seemed to sparkle in the light cast about them, for upon his head was a Silmaril.

Though his words had reflected strong resolve, the sight of that gem was enough to break Fëanáro's state of mind. The darkness came whirling back in full force, and what was once clear truth just moments ago now seemed confusing and convoluted as the dark twisted his mind. Battle raged in his soul, and Fëanáro's features twisted and he roared. Albitorë reared in distress. But for Makalaurë, time seemed stop as a spell was cast over him.

Unaware of his own actions, Kanofinwë began to sing. His great voice filled with power, and indeed it was a song of power that left his throat, sung in an ancient language forgotten by all but the Vala. He did not immediately realize that it was his voice that sang nor did he know how long the song continued, if it was for mere moments or for centuries. It was if he were floating in a foggy dream and that all reality was merely a shadow of some greater truth.

But then the spell left him and took with it his strength. He fell as exhaustion crashed over him in a wave. And everything went black for a moment…. Or perhaps it was for a thousand years.

But as surely as the never-ending beat of the waves upon the shores of Alqualonde, Makaluare's consciousness returned to him and he became aware that all those around him had also collapsed. Even the horses were laying on the ground, their riders next to them with eyes closed. Horror grasped his heart and squeezed. "Oh Eru! What have I done!" He wanted to scream those words but his voice came out in a croak. He rushed to his father's side, and reached for his neck, falling in relief when he felt a pulse. Makalaurë knelt for a moment before staggering to his feet and stumbling to a nearby tree where he fell to his knees in exhaustion once more.

The large oak seemed to rustle its leaves in greeting but the worn elf did not notice. Tears begin to fall from his eyes as in his exhaustion his steadfast resolve and confidence began to fail and his wounded heart lost its protection.

"Oh Eru!" He prayed. "You sent me back to make it better! To fix things. And look at what I've done!" strangled sobs escaped Maglor's hoarse throat. He lifted his head to see his family. Fingon, wounded and still bleeding from his shoulder. His father, torn apart by an inner struggle that was slowly destroying him. His uncle Arafinwë, who was never supposed to be a part of this in the first place, laying prone in the dirt with that cursed jewel. Maitimo gone.

"I have failed." Makalaurë cried. "This is not how it was supposed to be." Suddenly, a feminine hand touched his shoulder. Makalaurë looked up to see Nienna, her silver hair tumbling in waves down her thin form and soft silver eyes looking into the distance. She sighed and turned to look at the elf before stirring down next to him.

"There are many among my brothers and sisters who do not know why I cry. They think I am fragile, a girl unfit for the power I have received. They do not know that I cry not because it is sad, this world and the state that it is in. No, I cry because I see what this world could have been. You see a sapling die and it can be sad, because it is no more. Though many wouldn't shed tears over it. But I see a sapling die, and I do grieve. I mourn because I know that that little sapling could have been a great evergreen pine, so towering and splendid that eagles would have made their nests in its branches."

"I did not know you to be a Vala of many words," Makalaurë croaked.

"No, dear. But I think we are the same. You cry now not because your family sleeps. You cry because you think they are less now than what they ought to be."

"They are broken, and it is my own fault. We are supposed to be kin. United as one against evil."

"Spoken like a king. You see greatness in your people."

"I among all the eldar am least fit to be king."

Nienna laughed a quiet laugh. But said nothing in response.

"Did you inspire that song? Cast your sorcery on me?"

"Yes, I had pity on you."

"You have only delayed the inevitable. They will wake up and be at war once more."

"Not necessarily," she said gracefully standing and walking over to Arafinwë and taking the circlet from his brow. "We can heal this rift easily as your uncles mean no harm," she said studying the circlet and the jewel set within. We have Arafinwë and Fëanáro here already. I can easily fetch sensible Ñolofinwë. And then we shall have the two sons of Ingwë explain by whose treachery these Silmarils have ended up in their possession, and direct all of you father's rage in the right direction. I will help you."

And suddenly Makalaurë felt soft lips touch his brow and he fell asleep in the Vala's arms.

* * *

Arafinwë liked to believe that he was easy-going. He took everything in stride and generally did not have trouble going with the flow. There were exceptions, of course, but generally he managed to avoid confrontation and drama. But although he awoke in a beautiful garden to the sounds of a fountain and the smell of a multitude of flowers, he could not shake the feeling that he had just jumped into a maelstrom of drama. He looked around and found his two brothers sleeping on the ground beside him. Also present were three of his nephews: Makalaurë, Curufinwë, and Findekáno. Yep. Something had gone down. But Arafinwë was a noble elf, and so he did not give voice so such thoughts. Instead, he sat up and looked up when he heard the sound of soft but sad music coming from one of the trees.

Sitting there with her blue dress draping elegantly over the branches was the Vala, Nienna. "Good morning… or I guess good afternoon, Prince Arafinwë," she spoke in her soft voice as she put down her flute. "Your family should be joining us shortly."

"Where are we?"

"One of my secluded gardens. Do you remember what happened?"

Arafinwë's brow crumpled as he tried to recall. He was just traveling back from Tirion after visiting some of the Vanyan high court. And at the gates…. a rearing horse…. a naked blade… a song unlike any he had ever heard before. He shut his eyes against the images.

"I remember only slightly." The Vala nodded. Just then there was a groan, and Ñolofinwë sat up, looking most unprincely with twigs in his hair and a confused expression on his face. This was followed by a muffled curse from Fëanáro. Yep, the sons of Finwë were all here alright.

Nienna leapt down from her tree. "Alright…" she began only to be cut off.

"Nienna?" She looked towards a blinking Findekáno.

"Yes, son of Ñolofinwë?"

The young elf gulped. "Nothing, it's just…. you never really interact with elves much… and I guess… I guess…. you thought you would be more…. sad."

The Vala smiled softly. "Usually, dear one. But today I feel hope again in my breast. I feel a bit of my old self from before the beginning of time. Do not drag me back down to depression just yet."

Findekáno blushed and nodded. As he propped himself up besides his cousins. Makalaurë looked slightly out of it, tired blue eyes gazing up at the silver-haired Vala. Curufinwë was glaring at her, his muscles tense. But he said nothing.

"So, princes of the Eldar. My heart has been torn to pieces too many times for you three of you to cut it anew. Let's solve our grievances here," with that she gracefully pulled the Silmaril from behind her back. Findekáno gasped. Curufinwë's eyes narrowed. But Makalaurë's eyes never left her face.

"Arafinwë, you were wearing this on your brow. Pray tell me honestly who gave it to you?" Arafinwë felt his heart speed up at the sudden scrutiny. "It was Anairë, my sister by marriage."

"And Ñolofinwë, did your wife also give you a gem like this one?" The dark-haired elf nodded.

"She said it was a gift from the Valar. She said that the three of us each received one."

"So you do not who made these?" The Vala asked softly. Ñolofinwë nodded as a sinking feeling descended upon him. What trouble had his beloved found herself in?

"Of course you do!" came a furious voice. Curufinwë made to stand, but Makalaurë was there holding his brother's arm.

"It was I," said Fëanáro softly. Ñolofinwë looked at his brother in confusion, and his face paled when he put it all together.

"So that is why you attacked me at the gates, nephew of mine. You thought I stole it."

"More than that you stabbed me!" Nienna lifted her hand, and looked at Ñolofinwë. The poor elf looked aghast at the accusation, his hurt expression only amplified by his bed head.

"This is the second time I have been accused of such, but I assure you it is not so. There is darkness still in this land. By some power you saw what was not, beloved nephew! Search your heart, you will know that I speak the truth."

Nienna looked about to say something but then she paused. "Naracalammo," she muttered.

"What?" asked Ñolofinwë.

"Naracalammo, has Anairë never spoken of him? He is a Maia, a master of illusion and trickery. And one with more than enough reason to hurt you, Ñolofinwë."

"Of course he has reason! There are plenty of Maia working for Moringotto...Melkor; they all want to make that sick bastard proud," Makalaurë spoke up, his words laced with both exhaustion and emotion.

"No, beyond Melkor. This would have been personal."

"I have never heard that name before," Ñolofinwë declared softly. "Why would he want to hurt me?"

"Because you stole his beloved. Before you, fair Anairë was in love with dark Naracalammo. I know. I know because I wept for their parting. For his selfishness. For the death of their innocent daughter…."

Silence reigned. "Daughter," Ñolofinwë gasped.

"Yes. A stillborn babe with mocha skin and unseeing blue eyes. Half Maia, half eldar. But Naracalammo had been twisted by then, and perhaps it was for the best. Still, he hates you. And he hates your wife. This would have been a perfect revenge. And with his great power of illusion, he could have stolen the Silmarils for Melkor while he wore your visage."

Curufinwë looked as if he wanted to protest, but he didn't have the chance. "It is true," he father spoke up. "I myself saw Naracalammo working with Moringotto. I did not know the extent of his powers. But I swear by my beloved mother's grave that he is in league with Moringotto. Moringotto who attacked my son and my nephew," he gestured to the younger elves.

"Here," Arafinwë spoke up, holding out the Silmaril. "It is yours is it not?"

Fëanáro slowly took the flaming gem in his hands and at once his body seemed to relax. In an instant the tranquil garden seemed even more peaceful as if an undetected strife had fled.

But Curufinwë worked his jaw. "I can't believe this. You all are delusional," he pinned his father with a deadly gaze, steel cold eyes challenging him. "I thought you and I were the same. But how easy you are swayed by Makalaurë's silvertongue and a few sweet lies from them," he seethed, gesturing to Ñolofinwë and his brother and son. "It is iron and steel that I believe in, those things I can see with my own eyes. I don't trust honeyed words, especially those that come from the Valar," he glared at the silver-haired Vala of Sorrow. "Forgive me, but I will have my leave now."

Nienna said nothing, simply smiled sadly. "Your heart has become calloused and you thirst for war. What side will you fight on?" And with that she sighed and Curufinwë vanished by her magic.

Ñolofinwë gulped before standing. "He is young and misguided by the darkness of the age. I will hold no grievance against him or you," he said nodding towards Fëanáro.

His half-brother looked up from the jewel in his hand. "He was not wrong, my son. My spirit cannot rest living a dull life in Tirion, and perhaps I also thirst for war. Only now I see that my true enemy is not my own family! Ha! What pathetic opponents you two would have made. Instead of singing about some lame fencing-match between us, let's give the singers a far greater story. The story of a great war against the evil wrought into the world by Moringotto, once the greatest of the Vala. Will you stand by me, brothers?"

Arafinwë sighed. It appeared as if Fëanáro were still mad. However, at least his ambition was now not directed at his brothers.

"Of course, when the time comes. But before any war is won or lost, I believe I must confront my wife," was Ñolofinwë's reply.

""I am going after Maitimo," whispered Makalaurë, speaking up for the first time in awhile. There was a haunted expression on his dirty face.

"I wish to go with you, my son. But I must get Curufinwë back into line. His disrespect will not be tolerated."

"Curufinwë and the Ambarussa have been banished for threatening Ñolofinwë a few days ago. They leave for Formenos in the morning. I advise you to let them be. They are still very young and full of passion, but they will not have the support of any of the people if all three of the sons of Finwë present a united stance. They will be powerless, and the banishment will give them some time to cool off. I might even recommend giving them the Silmaril. They will certainly guard it well," said Nienna.

Fëanáro looked down at his prized creation, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Very well, see to it that they receive it. Do you know where the other two are?"

"One they already have. Anairë gave it to Pityo in a moment of regret. The last is still in Melkor's hands."

"Along with three of my sons." Fëanáro paused for a second and looked at his elder half-brother, a calculating fire in his eye. "Ñolofinwë, I need you to stand watch over Tirion whilst Makalaurë and I recover what is ours. But let us show to the people that there is no ill-will between us."

Shock crossed the dark-haired elf's face when he realized what the proud son of Finwë was saying. "You don't have to…"

"And normally I wouldn't, but we will need to full strength of the Noldor behind us and for that this will be necessary. Arafinwë, keep rumors under control. When the news breaks, I want it to do so our way."

"Manwë help me," the golden haired elf muttered, suddenly feeling like he had inexplicably found himself in war meeting. Fëanáro was like a wolfhound that had caught a new scent. He had narrowed his focus and wasn't letting go anytime soon. The spirit of fire was preparing for war, and not even the object of his prior passion, the silmarils, could distract him now. Clearly, as he had just willingly handed one over to his wayward son.


	14. Chapter 14

**Happy fall to all my very patient readers.**

" _Lotheg!"_ The young elfling cried, pointing at a cluster of dainty bluebells that grew along the road.

" _Luthag?"_ Tyelkormo tried, though Carnistir had the feeling his brother mispronounced the word for flower on purpose.

" _No,"_ the girl replied, crossing her arms and pouting, sticking her bottom lip out. " _Lotheg."_

"Oh I see, _lotheg._ " The blond hunter pronounced the Sindarin word correctly this time. The little elfling's face lit up. " _And what is the… word… for you?_ " he asked next, using the very limited vocabulary he had just learned in the twenty minutes past. Honestly, Carnistir was a little jealous. He himself was great with languages; they all were. But not even Fëanáro was as fast as Tyelkormo when it came to new tongues. Afterall, Turko clearly had learned bear at some point.

" _Raen, my name is Raen!"_ the girl giggled. " _Turk! You are Turk!"_ she laughed again, amused by the name she had heard his brothers call him. " _Nelyo, Moryo, and…. TURK!"_

"Tyelkormo," the elf replied indigintely. " _My name is Tyelkormo, or Turko if you must. But not Turk, silly one."_

"I don't know brother, Turk has a certain ring to it," Nelyo's voice came from where he was riding on the bear just behind Tylekormo. And although he tried to hide it, the hunter could clearly hear the pain through his lighthearted words.

"Maitimo, are you alright?" Wearily, the exhausted elf put his forehead on his brother's back. "I am, brother. Just tired." Carnistir was about to ask if they should stop when suddenly the great bear paused in its lumbering steps all on its own. The dark haired elf looked infront of him and eyes widened. A she-elf stood there with dark skin and long, dark hair that floated in the wind. She held a spear in one hand and was clearly blocking their way.

" _Raen, get away from them,"_ she ordered, her voice pleasant but commanding. Obediently, the girl jumped off the animal and ran towards the woman hiding behind her legs. "Who are you, Noldor? And what are you doing here?" her Quenya was accented but spoken with confidence.

"I am Maitimo Nelyafinwe, eldest son of Fëanáro, son of Finwë, High King of the Noldor across the sea. My brothers and I were betrayed by the Vala named Melkor, and by his power we were exiled to your land."

The she-elf arched an eyebrow. "I see. I am Myrina, guardian of the town of Halian. We are but a humble outpost of Doraith situated outside the Girdle of Melian. I presume you know your history, Noldo?"

"Very well, my lady."

"Then you know that while we are weary of outsiders, we don't turn away from the innocent who are in need. You are innocent?" she asked, eyeing the great brown bear wearily. Carnistir thought she was rather blunt, but chalked most of it up to her speaking in a tongue not her own.

"We are," he replied. "Melkor is only after us because of the position our family holds. If you help us and tend to our wounds, the Sons of Fëanáro will be in your debt." ... _But if you don't, there will be blood to pay_ were words left unspoken.

"Then follow me," and with that she gracefully mounted a lean, white horse, helped young Raen up behind her, and led them into the valley down below.

The village that came into view reminded Tyelkormo of one from one of the stories that Maitimo used to read to him when he was a elfling. Quant houses with thatched roofs sat near a clear babbling brooke and moss grew on boulders that we scattered here and there. Yet for how peaceful it looked, Turko could just pick out armed sentries patrolling the outskirts. And though he couldn't see them, he bet there were more than a few archers hidden in the trees.

"What do you make of this?" he whispered to his brothers.

"A place of peace and refuge," was Nelyo's reply.

"Yes, but look. They are armed."

"We aren't in Valinor anymore. This is without a doubt Arda, and Moringotto has ravaged these lands long before we were even born."

Tylekormo paused for a moment. "Do you think _she_ has fought?"

Carnistir promptly elbowed him in the ribs. "Probably. And she will probably kill you if you try anything."

"Don't underestimate me. The greatest hunters make the most legendary of heroes." He was pleasantly surprised when the others were too weary to dispute that claim.

The two warriors standing guard at the stone wall and wooden door to the village eyed the bear as it ambled past them. Perhaps it was because of the pain in his knee and and the pounding that had renewed in his head, but Tyelkormo took satisfaction in that. Yes, these Moriquendi had spears and swords and silver armor. Yes, he probably looked like a beggar that the waves had spat on the shore. But he had a bear as a steed.

But when Myrina dismounted and gave them a pointed look, he sighed and with Moryo's help got off the animal. But now they had the problem that Caranthir was again helping him stand and Nelyo couldn't walk.

The girl must not have realized their predicament because she continued to glare at them.

"My lady, Myrina. My brother has been tortured by Moringotto. Both his achilles are cut. I cannot carry both of them. Can you help us to your healers.?"

Tyelkormo wanted to remind him that he, for one, did not need to be carried but held his tongue. It was worth it to see the superior look on the girl's face rapidly disintegrate into one of alarm and regret.

"I...I didn't realize you were hurt that bad. Of course," she said dismounting as two young eleths appeared from the village and Myrina immediately directed them to help Tyelkormo while she and Curufinwë help Nelyo down.

Tyelkormo's pride was instantly obliterated as he found himself relying on two fair maidens just to walk. Suffice to say, he didn't feel like much of a hero. But he was still a prince of Valinor and so he tried to make small talk with them, but he knew all of about thirty words in this strange tongue and so he eventually gave up as they laid him down on a bed of blankets and straw. Immediately he felt sleep descending on him when the dark beauty who spoke Quenya opened the door and stood before him.

"Your brother, the one with the hair of molten fire, is tough. I've seen lesser men break with similar wounds."

Tyelkormo wanted to roll his eyes. Trust Maitimo, even with that hideous haircut, to win over the ladies. Even this rude she-elf who acted like a male.

"My brother likes stories," he began slowly. "Complex characters with many sides and hidden layers….Those are his favorite. It would appear he's trying to emulate them, with his gentle personality but somewhat surprising toughness." Tylekormo wanted to applaud himself for such a civil remark.

"Well he is a Noldo. Your people let stories go straight to the head."

"Pardon, my lady?"

"It is said among the Sindar that the Noldor were born with too much ambition, that blessed Iluvatar poured too much spirit into your kind. That is why you yearn. The Sindar...we could have been content with the blessings provided us," she began with smooth accented words. "But the Noldor can never be. They constantly strive. They create. But you know something, Noldo?" She spat that last word out like a curse.

"What?" Turko asked with irritation.

"For all your kind's infatuation with heroism. You do nothing. You idle in paradise licking honey off your fingers while my people are fighting and dying."

Tyelkormo knew that the very true excuse that they had absolutely no idea about any war was not going to fly. So once more he summoned what civility remained within himself: "No longer then. Fetch me a horse. I will ride into battle with you tonight, my lady."

He received a pillow in the face as an answer.

"If only you could. But you are lame. Your dark haired brother may be of help though," she said with a hint of a smile. Eru, that woman! She knew exactly what buttons to press, and she barely even knew him. Imagine! Sullen, moody Moryo getting to go to war while he laid here like an invalid. He was about to protest but Myrina had had already left.

* * *

Nerdanel was scribbling designs furiously. Had she not done everything in her power as a parent? Had she not raised her boys to be kind and chivalrous? And for the past week they had been acting like barbarians! Threatening Ñolofinwë, testing the Valar, getting exiled! She hissed as her parchment tore under the force of her hand. At least her three youngest had left that morning to be with her father in-law in Formenos. She loved them dearly, but right now she would not have been able to stand the sight of them.

She was so absorbed in thoughts that it took her a moment to register the racket coming from the floor below. "This circlet too!?" a voice that sounded like Findekáno's cried out.

"Yes! Everything of value that's easy to carry!" Makalaurë responded, most definitely not in an inside voice.

"What in tarnation!" she muttered to herself. When something that sounded remarkably like a grand harp crashing to the floor reached her years, the red haired elleth had had enough. Pen in hand, she marched down the stairs to her studio and across a hallway to Makalaurë's room. It looked as if Tulkas and Melkor had wrestled there, violently.

Fine robes and tunics littered the floor. Drawers were haphazardly strewn across the floor. Findekáno, dressed in only a shirt and pants, was hastily going through one of them, tossing silks aside with one arm as his other was bound close to his body in a sling. Kano, sensisible Kanofinwe, was standing on his unmade bed with sopping wet hair and no shirt whatsoever looking at the ornate chandelier and its golden chain with a certain expression that Nerdanel didn't want to know. And then it happened, her son leapt from the bed and onto the lower branches of the golden chandelier itself. The fixture shook slightly with his weight but held it.

"Makalaurë Kanofinwe! Have you lost your mind!" Nerdanel shouted, pointing her pen at him accusingly. She flung the tool with such force that splotches of ink hit her son in the face. The reborn elf blinked somewhat stupidly from where he hung trying to register what he was seeing. When he finally realized his position, Makalaurë nearly cursed his rotten but reliably consistent luck.

"Oh, mother! I'm just redecorating. That is all," he attempted to smile it off and then proceeded to pull himself up so that he could better access the beautiful crystal lights of the chandelier, another invention of Fëanáro's. Perhaps if he ignored the problem, it would go away. He dislodged one of the crystals and gently tossed it onto his mattress.

However, aforementioned problem did not go away. She stood there with hands on her hips, green eyes boring holes in Makalaurë's back for several moments before turning her lethal gaze onto her nephew. Findekáno wilted. "Uh, we are going to rescue Maitimo and for that we will need some…. uh…. valuable items to trade for supplies."

"WHAT?"

"Only Kano's stuff, not yours or anything" Findekáno stuttered, rather ineloquently.

"Where is Nelyafinwe?" Nerdanel demanded. She didn't give a second thought for gold when one of her own was needing rescue. Rescue from what? What on Arda was happening to her household? "And where is that husband of mine?" she asked, slapping the pen in her hand with each syllable. Someone was about to be set straight.

"Right here, sweetheart," Fëanáro butted his head in the doorway. This was a tragic mistake on his part.

"You!" Nerdanel began, whirling on her husband. Makalaurë took the opportunity to drop gracefully to the floor, hopefully unnoticed.

"Yes, it's me darlingheart."

"You are at the center of all this."

"Debatable."

…

"Alright, perhaps."

…

"Fine. Guilty as charged," the son of Finwë relented, putting his hands in the air as a sign of surrender.

"Don't move" Nerdanel ordered, swinging her pen at Kano who was trying to sneak around her back to reach his cousin, but her eyes never left Fëanáro. "Now you all will sit down and explain somethings."

And so the three elves took turns explaining most of the story. They told Nerdanel about how Melkor…. from henceforth Moringotto they made a point of emphasizing... had tried to rip the Finwë's apart through the Silmarils and was responsible for the disappearance of Turko, Moryo, and Nelyo. How he had a fallen Maia called Naracalammo, a master of illusion, working for him. And finally how the three youngest had fallen hook, line, and sinker for their adversary's lies and needed to be freed from the deception.

Nerdanel looked at each of her relatives one by one. Then sighed. "Never a dull day in this house."

"Of course not, love," Fëanáro agreed as he gave her a quick kiss.

"I will be going with you, of course."

"What!" Three makes voices exclaimed simultaneously.

"They are my sons too. The Ñolofinwës and Arafinwës are my family too. And you will not face the trek to Formenos alone, dearest husband of mine. Not when Manwë's brother is loose and currently has a no small grudge against you. I shall accompany you on the trip to save our youngest."

Fëanáro knew that there would be arguing. But he was secretly glad that Nerdanel would be at his side.

"And you two," Nerdanel turned to the two younger elves, "be careful. And bring my boys home. And then you will be cleaning this pigsty!" She did not forget to add on as the other two began smiling at her acceptance.

"Where will you begin your search?" Fëanáro asked.

"I have reason to believe that Moringotto has stronghold in Arda across the sea. It would easiest for him to deal with…. with prisoners there." Kano's voice faltered just a bit. "From the visions, I know this." He quickly explained.

"So we will cross the sea by using the ships of the Teleri! That is why we are collecting valuables, to trade for safe passage," Findekáno jumped in.

Fëanáro was about to respond when a howl ripped through the night. Moments later and the hurried patter of paws could be heard on the stairs. Huan appeared shortly after. Mangled and matted in places, his white coat was filthy. A hawk with feathers in similar disarray perched on the wolfhound's back.

"Huan!" Several voices exclaimed at once. The wolfhound wagged his tail in greeting. He howled in low tones, whining and panting, while the hawk turned its head to look at each of the eldar. It then wearily took flight, finding a nook in the ceiling where it snuggled into. The poor bird was exhausted.

"Your friend is down for the count. But you aren't, are you boy?" Fëanáro exclaimed patting the hound's head. Huan nipped happily and his tail wagged even faster. "Go with my son and nephew, then. Keep them safe."

That evening two pairs of horses set off into the night. Two of them carrying dark haired elves headed east, a large wolf hound running by their side. And two went north, carrying a husband and wife on a mission to save their kids.


	15. Chapter 15

**Merry Christmas Eve and many thanks to your patience and kind reviews.**

Melkor leaned gracefully against a pillar the supported the patio's roof at Formenos. He appeared relaxed and content, a calm onlooker on someone else's hectic day. His thin lips smiled faintly as he watched golden light dance on the red cobblestones of the patio.

This game was turning out to be so many times more fun than he had first envisioned. And despite having all his best laid plans flipped upside down, Melkor found himself enjoying the challenge. There was an excitement now, a strange distant thrill within him now that pawns could switch sides so easily. So he had lost Fëanáro, a valuable piece if ever there was one.

Word was that Nienna had something to do with that, which was surprising to say the least. Her entrance into the game had been unexpected, and if Melkor had to admit it, he would concede that the silver-haired Vala had the potential to become a powerful opponent, if only for a little while. The Nienna that would interfere with and manipulate the lives of the Eldar was a being he did not know. And the first rule of war was to know thy enemy. This new persona would make Nienna dangerous….. until he figured her out.

But the loss of Fëanáro was not so crippling. It was bound to happen anyway. In fact, he had counted on it happening. Of course, his first hope had been to surrender Fëanáro to the Eldar as a flaming arrow that would tear them asunder, true, but there were other pieces on the board.

Melkor eyed Curufinwë as he approached with a crate in his hand, the new sword glistening from his belt.

"It is a shame about your father. Falling in with my brothers and sisters. I saw him as stronger than that, a firstborn who saw through all the shallow emptiness of pretty words and manicured gardens."

"What do you want, Melkor? You realize that they think you are behind all this."

Melkor laughed. "Really? And how stupid do they think I am? Why would I risk beloved freedom for a few glistening jewels? A pity, dear Curufinwë, but I am not exactly in the position for mischief at the moment."

"I know that. Meanwhile Ñolofinwë's always been jealous of us. His motive is clear."

"Indeed. And with that in mind I have a gift for you and the loyal Amberousia."

"We don't want your gifts."

"Not even a great forge? I've seen your skill, Curufinwë. And if you alone are to triumph over the manipulations of my siblings….. well you are going to need it."

"And I am to believe that you just built a forge for the pure enjoyment of it?"

"For your father. As a sign of a friendship that is now broken." Curufinwë stopped by where the fallen Vala stood so calmly and set down the crate.

"What would be the point? It's not like I have an army to forge weapons for."

"Of course not. It would merely be a way for you to spend your time in exile. Make the days go by faster, as it were. And then when you return…." Melkor paused, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Curufinwë eyed him wearily. "I am my own master, Melkor. I will not play your games. But if you offer me a forge freely, I will not decline."

"Splendid. I shall take you to it once you are moved in."

* * *

" _But they are outsiders!_ " Myrina said through partly gritted teeth.

" _Have you not been called that before? How many settlements have helped you when you were injured?_ "

" _I rarely give my opponents a chance to injure me. So few._ "

The older elleth across the room from Myrina sighed as she continued to knead the dough she was working. She was short for one of the firstborn, with grey-blonde hair, and she seemed worn despite her ageless features. " _Myrina. I have known you since you were child. And always you have been headstrong. You founded this settlement, and vowed to protect it. That takes strength_ ," she said, pounding the dough with her fist.

Myrina opened her mouth to reply but the older elleth cut her off. " _But it takes even more strength to help others_."

Myrina sighed. " _That fountain is why we are living out here, Betheta! I protect that too_!"

" _Yes, and what if by healing him that red-haired warrior will help you protect it? Well you know, my dear, that you cannot face the forces of Angband alone_."

" _How do you know he's a warrior?_ "

" _The eyes, my love. They betray not only the soul, but it's secrets too_."

" _Whatever. Fine I'll take him tonight. But not the other two. That smug blonde one can heal on his own. See how much he teases me then_." And with that Myrina stormed out of Betheta's kitchen, across the settlement and into the little house where she had put the wounded one who could not walk. Maedhros was his name. She opened the door without knocking, and grey eyes met blue.

"My grandmother insists I take you to the Healing Waters."

Nelyafinwë nodded. And sat up on the bed he had previously been laying on, while reaching for a shirt. He threw a simple white undershirt over his lean torso and barely winced as he swung his wounded ankles over the side of the bed.

"Do you look forward to watching me fall, my lady?"

Myrina blushed and rushed to his side. "Sorry," she said as she positioned one of Maitimo's arms across her shoulders and helped the taller elf up. "Can you still ride?"

Nelyo smiles a half smile. "I will manage." And the two of them began to slowly walk across the settlement.

Carnistir was for once in his life, not counting this past week, restless. Sleep would not come. He tossed and turned and then mentally chided himself for not getting the sleep he knew that he desperately needed. He lay there on his stomach, sheets and tangled up mess around his lower body and hair fanned out in all directions, when he heard footsteps. His keen elven hearing picked up two elves walking in the night: one with light steps and the other with an unsteady and limping gait. Nelyo!

Like a child sneaking out of bed early on a festival day, he crept quiet as the night out of his one-room house and spied his brother and that dark elleth moving towards the stables. He could not explain the feelings of mischief that overcame him. He was about to follow when he got a better idea. Carnister snuck into Turko's room next door, where the blond was writing furiously in a journal that the village had given him.

"Turko," he whispered. His brother jumped.

"Moryo, you fiend. What do you want?"

"Our brother is sneaking away with that warrior elleth, and I was wondering if you wanted to follow."

Tyelkormo's eyes lit up. "I for one, won't stand being left behind. Already my knee is healing."

"Good, because we have to go now." Turko nodded and reached for a wooden crutch by his bed.

Myrina helped Maedhros onto a red mare, while she mounted her own horse. "It's not a long ride, but the path is full of danger." Maedhros waited until they were well into the forest to reply.

"I take it that Sauron is your adversary?"

Myrina froze and looked at him through the night.

"How can a Noldo know that?"

" _I know more than you think_."

Myrina instantly reigned in her horse.

" _You speak our language_?"

Maedhros laughed. " _I am not entirely ignorant of your ways_."

" _Then why did you never help us_?" Maedhros paused as he urged his horse forward.

" _It's complicated_."

They ride in an uneasy silence along a path so poorly defined, Maitimo would have never seen it had he not been looking for it. At last the great oaks parted into a small clearing where a spring of clear water pooled on mossy ground.

" _This fountain is sacred to us. A gift from Estë, on one of the few occasions that she cared. Get in. You will be healed_."

Nelyafinwë looked skeptically at the cold waters, but accepted the elleth's help in dismounting and getting into the pool. As soon as his ankles touched the water he felt warm, strangely powerful energy run through them. The water seemed to flow for a minute as the pain vanished. And not only in his ankles: the cuts to his torso and back healed. And what is more: he felt the tightness and soreness in his muscles wash away. It was like being born anew.

" _Dunk your head in_ ," Myrina suggested. And Maedhros obliged, closing his eyes and letting the water heal the cut on his cheek. He emerged only for his head to feel heavier. What the?

He looked around and saw long locks of hair floating in the water. Myrina laughed at the confusion on his face. "Y _ou look like one of the first elves emerging from the waters of Cuivienyarna. The water restores your body. I guess in your case that includes your hair_."

Maedhros smiles a genuine smile. " _I don't know what to say_." He then looked at the elleth. " _Thank you for taking me here_." He barely finished his sentence when a rush of air whizzed by his head. Acting on pure instinct, he leapt out of the water and talked Myrina to the ground as a volley of arrows flew over their heads.

" _You idiot. Get off me_!" Myrina cursed as she shoved the taller elf away. Quickly rushing to her saddle and grabbing her spear, she gritted her teeth. " _Thou foul servants of Sauron. Come at me!_ " she shouted, brandishing her weapon.

" _Myrina_! _Do you have an extra knife or anything_?" Maedhros shouted, honestly hoping she had a sword somewhere.

" _Leave this to me!_ " She grunted as a group of four orcs emerged from the trees: a small scouting party.

Maedhros looked around frantically for a weapon, and finding none leapt into one of the trees.

" _Coward_ ," Myrina hissed. And then she gave a war cry and flung herself at the largest orc, the leader who was brandishing a war hammer. The monster swung its weapon at the elleth s face but she went to the ground, sliding across the mud on her knees as the hammer swung over her head. Her spear jammed into the orc's stomach and the creature grunted as dark blood spilled from its twisted body's and the life left its eyes.

Myrina smiled as she tugged at the spear, attempting to wrench it out, but the weapon was lodged too deeply in the thing's gut. She pulled again, but the spear would not budge, and panic seized her heart as she caught sight of a second orc in her peripheral vision.

" _Myrina_!" a deep voice sounded. And she watched as Maedhros flew from his perch on high, his feet slamming into the approaching orc's chest, sending it toppling backwards just before it beheaded her. The elf never lost his momentum, tucking into a roll and leaping to his feet, spinning to grab the dazed orcs ax and quickly ending the creatures life with his own weapon.

Maedhros spun again and threw the ax into the chest of one of the last three orcs before it could get any arrows off. Myrina seized the opportunity and grabbed and arrow, flinging it with precision so that it struck the finally orc right in the throat.

" _I had it completely taken care of_!" She shouted to Maedhros.

The taller elf looked as her curiously. " _It's okay to need some help at times; we all do. We all make mistakes._ "

Myrina huffed. " _Maybe you do. Maybe you can afford to make mistakes in the blessed land of light, but I've never had the luxury_."

Maedhros didn't feel like pointing out that she made a very dear one here trying to pull that spear out of the orc. It was a mistake that would have cost her life had he not been there.

"So this is the romantic spring where the two-star crossed lovers go to have their spats," said a flat, disinterested voice that sounded suspiciously like Moryo.

Maitimo and Myrina spin around to see Caranthir sitting smugly on a stolen horse while Tyelkormo just looked angry.

"What are you two doing here?" Myrina yelled.

"And what are you doing to my brother?" Tyelkormo short back.

"Restoring his vanity," she replied. Maedhros raised an eyebrow at that, he didn't recall ever being called vain in his life.

Moryo scrutinized his brother's appearance. He looked like their mother's worst nightmare: no over shirt, mud everywhere, but his hair was long. "How?" He asked.

The elleth gestured to the water. "Healing Waters," she said simply.

"So what? You didn't find me worthy enough of getting healing. Or Moryo for that matter. Only for Maitimo because you have fallen for him, haven't you?" Turko accused, barely restrained fury in his voice.

"I have not! I just didn't want to bring a crowd here and attract so much attention! I took a vow to protect this spring."

"So we were going to be next?"

"Yes," she gritted out. "You would have been." If only because Betheta insisted, she finished in her head.

Maedhros raised his hands in a placating matter. "My brothers and I never meant to cause you such distress, my lady. It is poor form for guests to abuse their host in such a way. We are in your debt, and we ask for your forgiveness."

Myrina stared at him. "You would have made a good king, you know. Fine, your two brothers can get in the spring as well," she added with a flippant wave of her hand. "And you might as well get in and wash off that mud… And I guess I can say the same for me," she added.

Moryo And Tyelkormo shared a look. "What are girls in your country so protected they can't share a natural spring? We will keep our clothes on, Eru." And with that she pushed herself into the water and dunked her head in. Maedhros followed.

"Eru Illuvatar, forgive me," Turko muttered as Moryo helped him dismount.

"Why brother, anyone would think you despised her."

"I think I do, Moryo. That woman gets under my skin. But I have never met one like her."

Moryo looked around at the dead orcs, creatures he had never seen before. "Yes, this is most unsettling."

* * *

Naracalammo emerged from the ancient cave of Iomba Men, a forgotten portal between Valinor and Arda. He walked out onto the beach and knew instantly where the three Feanorions would have walked. He hated being used as a gift-bearer to Sauron, who was Maia same as him. But this was never about power, he reminded himself. At least not for him.

He called his magic to him, and used it to produce a golden flower. He laughed and hurried along the beach to where the cliffs gave way and to the village that lay beyond. As he neared the village, he wreathed himself in illusion, making himself invisible to all but one. He stood in front of one of the small wooden houses, the doorway decorated with a child's homemade wreath, and he opened it slowly.

The little mound in the bed stirred, " _Who's there_ ," the silver-haired girl called out.

" _Raen, I am a friend of Beleg, your father. He is worried about you being all alone at this outpost while he is away defending all of Doriath_."

" _But I am not alone, mister! I have Myrina and Betheta. And I met three elves yesterday who rode a bear! Not even daddy has ridden a bear._ "

" _Oh really? Still, my love. My friend, Beleg, your father now believes that you will be safer within the hurdle of Melion. He has asked me to take you there_."

" _No, daddy said that here in Halian was the safest place. Because the bad guys don't know about us_."

" _But what if they found out? Betheta is no warrior, my love. And even Myrina is not as good as she claims to be. Indeed I worry about her as well. And if she were here now I would take her with us_."

" _How do you know so much about Myrina_?"

" _You see, Raen. I am her father. Don't we look alike?_ " And Naracalammo stepped into the starlight, his dark skin reflecting it as it danced across his body.

" _Yeah_ ," Raen said hesitantly. " _I thought Myrina didn't have a father._ "

" _Don't be silly, little one. Just as your father is guarding Doriath, so too am I. We both have darling girls we want to protect._ "

" _So why isn't Myrina coming too?_ "

" _The elves who rode in the bear? They were bad guys, and Myrina is in trouble because of them. She is not here. It's not safe in this village anymore. We must leave. Here,_ " he said handing her the golden flower. " _Beleg told me how much you love flowers._ "

Raen accepted it and allowed the Maia to scoop her into her arms. And the two walked north.


	16. Chapter 16

"You know, my love, I just remembered something," Fëanáro spoke up. He sat somewhat hunched in the saddle, sore from riding way too long. Nerdanel rose abreast of him, but had been strangely quiet the whole trip. Fëanáro spared a glance at his wife to see her face taunt with something akin to anger. Despite himself the youngest son of Fëanáro gulped.

"What," Nerdanel finally responded.

"Uh, Nienna did tell me to leave Curvo and the twins alone and let them cool off. I was kind of thinking we'd go with Kano and Findekáno, but you mentioned Formenos….. and….. well."

Nerdanel stares at him, brown eyes burning. "You would have me abandon three of my children just because 'they need to cool off' ?"

"For Illuvatar's sake, Nerdanel, you were painting or something when I got home!"

"I had no idea how how much danger they were in! I assumed they were high spirited, back talking, dimwits like a certain someone I married."

"Well we are going now."

Nerdanel felt as if that obvious remark didn't warrant a response.

The couple approached a small mountain village just as the gentle silvery rays of Telperion began to overtake the golden ones of Laurelin. There were quaint cabins made of timber from the towering evergreen forests that surrounded them.

"We are just east of Formenos, as soon as we get out of the mountains we will be there."

Nerdanel glanced at her husband and a sudden softness appeared in her eyes. "You are tired. We've been riding for a night and a day. Let us rest here, and we shall face tomorrow with our strength restored."

Fëanáro smiled. "I do love the way you think." The two elves walked their horses through the town center, looking at some of the shop windows.

"A cup of warm cider for you on a chilly evening?" A little boy standing behind a vendor's stall asked.

Nerdanel laughed, "Oh I don't"

"Yes, we'll take two!" Fëanáro interrupted putting a few coins down.

The child smiled. "Here you go," he said handing them each a mug of apple cider with a stick of cinnamon in each. "You two are travelers. But you should stay for tonight when we celebrate fall. There will be singing and dancing and everyone is out having a good time."

"But autumn isn't for another two weeks," Nerdanel replied.

"Maybe in Tirion, but here on the mountain path we celebrate early, for it gets colder early."

"We might then,...have a good evening."

"Goodbye," the boy waved as they lead their horses to the one inn in the small town. Fëanáro and Nerdanel handed off their horses to the stable boy and checked in at the quaint mountain lodge that served as an inn. The small lobby had a roaring fire opposite the reception desk and several old wooden tables where a few guests were drinking or enjoying a bowl of soup or warm pastry.

While her husband payed for the room, Nerdanel glanced around with a small smile on her fair face. This was the perfect scene for a painting. But the peaceful thought lasted only a moment as it was quickly squelched by guilt. Who was she to think of art when her boys were in danger? She turned from the happy couples and weary travelers and headed for the wooden stairs as her husband came back with their room keys.

Fëanáro opened the door, and she set her traveling bag on the bed before laying down on it with a heavy sigh. "Don't get that quilt all dirty with your grimy clothes. Come on, let's take a shower and change and then enjoy the festival for just a little while before we get to bed early so we can be riding again at the first light of Laurelin," Fëanáro was saying.

"How can we enjoy a festival when our children are gone?" she asked, disbelief in her voice. "It's some time for you of all beings to be calm."

"I'm not, my dear, trust me I am not. But little good will we be to Curufinwë and Ambarussa if we stress ourselves out tonight. You and I are both so high-strung. They say it is our greatest weakness, you know? So we are going to change that."

"Oh so you do have a purpose? It's not relaxing if you have altier motives you know."

"Good. Then you shouldn't feel guilty about it."

Somehow Nerdanel found herself wearing her only other dress with a thick shawl around her shoulders to protect her from the early autumn cold. She put her hair up in a simple fashion while her husband tied his back and threw on a clean tunic. One would never guess that they were the heirs apparent of the Noldor or anyone other than plain travelers. As they walked back downstairs and through the lobby already they could hear upbeat music coming from the town square.

They stopped as they watched a few couples dance to a merry tune and saw children running around care-free as they were. It didn't seem right and the couple stood there for several moments as the world went on without them. And then someone grabbed Nerdanel's hand and pulled her forward while Fëanáro received a gentle push in the back.

"Join in, you two!" A happy voice called. And while Fëanáro looked, he could not see who had said it. At last he held out his hand to his wife, and Nerdanel hesitantly took it. At first they spun slowly, stepping with the beat, both with minds elsewhere. When suddenly there was an uptick in the tempo and the other couples broke apart as the musicians played a cheery line dance.

Nerdanel suddenly saw the world spin as a mountain elf spun her away towards one side of the the plaza and a blonde elleth happily danced with Fëanáro to the other. At once everyone around her clapped, and the world spun again in a whirl of colors as the villagers skipped and turned with practiced eased. Despite herself Nerdanel found herself following along and as the tempo built she spun faster and faster, at one point her hair coming undone and trailing behind her, a fiery streak in the night. Partener after partner she danced with before at long last, she hooked elbows with Fëanáro who laughed as they whirled around eachother.

Far away from the happy villagers, two females stood on a dark cliff, looking east. One with long silvery hair and the other with dark locks, both solemn and silent.

"Your husband is looking for you," Nienna spoke to the elleth beside her.

"I know."

"You still want to go alone?"

"This is my past, not his. And she is my daughter. I cannot stop dreaming of her. With Naracalammo's return….I just...I just have to do something before anyone else gets hurt," Anairë replied, her voice faltering at the end as images of fair Maitimo, bloodied by her hand assaulted her. Guilt seized her heart, and the elleth at once fell to one knee.

"Your shame is crushing you."

Anairë did not answer for she knew it was true. Nienna did not press further. Instead she bent down and gently kissed the crown of Anairë's head. "Good luck," she whispered.

And Telperion waxed as silver light grew stronger in the night. The mountain villagers clapped again as the song came to a close. And two horses burdened with gifts of gold and silver and crystal gems galloped towards the sea, a great hound running effortlessly behind them.

The limestone walls of Alqualonde loomed before Makalaurë and his cousin Findekáno, the beautiful white arch granting them entrance into the pearl city. There were few elves awake at this hour, and the cobblestone streets were silent and peaceful as the two horses and one wolfhound trotted on. As they neared the palace that stood in the center of the city, Makalaurë could not help but be fascinated by the lack of guards. But then again, Valinor had no real need for those as of yet. At least one young elf stood by the gate the the inner courtyard, though he appeared to be more of a servant or butler than a sentry.

"Who comes to the home of Olwë in the dead of night?" he asked.

"It is I, Makalaurë, son of Fëanáro, son of Finwë, and my cousin, Findekáno, son of Ñolofinwë, son of Finwë, who come with urgent news. We must see Lord Olwë at once."

The young elf swallowed. "What can be so urgent that it warrants riding here in the dead of night?"

Makalaurë had been up too long and his patience was growing thin. "Either you wake Lord Olwë or I will, either way, my cousin and I will have an audience with him tonight."

"It is just like the Noldor to make demands in the homes of others."

"Listen, you whelp! My brothers' lives are in danger!" Makalaurë's commanding voice boomed as he felt residual anger and emotion from another life enter his spirit. Sensing his fury, Huan snarled. At last the young butler seemed to notice the great wolfhound, and he wisely backed down. "At once, my lords," he stammered, eyeing Huan wearily as he did a quick half bow, before running into the palace.

Olwë emerged from behind the palace walls a few minutes later. A respected and wise leader, he had short hair for an elf: it was silver-white and fell just to his collar. His eyes were deepset and blue, the kind that can see into one's soul with just one glance.

"What great news do you bring, sons of Finwë?" he asked in a deep, calm voice that reminded one of the ocean.

"Three of my brothers have been captured by the forces of evil secretly led by Moringotto, who calls him Melkor. I have reason to believe they have been take across the sea, and we wish to rescue them," Makalaurë explained, his voice dead serious. There was a pregnant pause as Lord Olwë failed to respond at once.

"Go home, young elfling. You clearly have had too much to drink. Or better yet, you may stay in one of the rooms of the palace until morning."

"He's telling the truth!" Findekáno butted in. "I was there when Maitimo fought Melkor, when they took him! I saw the black blood fall from his wounds!"

Olwë raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Regardless, I cannot help you. My people are proud of our vessels. They are to the Teleri as the great gems of the Noldor are to you. We simply do not lend them out."

Findekáno reached into his saddle bag and pulled one of the crystal lights from the chandelier out of it. "We Noldo will gladly give you are lights of crystal and any other riches you desire. All we ask for is one ship? Is that so difficult? We will even return it when we come back!" Olwë stared in startled wonder at the glowing gem. He sighed.

"Regardless, you cannot hope to sail across the sea as tired as you must be after riding for so long. I insist you get some rest. Your brothers, whatever the truth maybe, will surely be fine."

And with that Olwë turned back the way he came, and the smug butler smirked. "Allow me," he said taking the reins from each horse.

Telerpion waxed to his greatest light, and in the mountain village, snow began to fall as Nerdanel swayed with her husband to the slow beat of a quiet dance. To the north and west, three elves and one of the Vala reached a hidden mountain fortress. The Vala dismounted. "This way," he said, his smooth voice betrayed little emotion, but if any of the three elves looked closely enough, they would have seen a glimmer of anticipation in his amber eyes. The elves followed the Vala behind a great outcrop of grey rock, and down a hidden path of stone. They reached a dark cave and walked straight through it when suddenly the ground fell away and a great hall with vaulted ceilings stood before them. "Alistimanár," the Vala declared.

At the same time, Ñolofinwë leaned against a stone building in exhaustion. "Anairë!" he cried out loud. "Anairë, my love" he then whispered to himself. "Eru, I forgive you! Just come back to me, we will figure this out together."

"I found no sign of her anywhere in Tirion," his brother's voice startled the Tirion lord. Ñolofinwë looked up to see Arafinwë on horseback just beside him.

"Where could she have gone?"

"Perhaps the gardens outside the city? Here," the golden-haired elf offered his hand and pulled his brother onto the horse's back behind him.

Sauron, the golden-haired Maiar of Angbando, was wide awake that night. He stood in a vast room in a stone fortress in front of a great scaled beast. He smiled to himself as he leapt upon the great creature's back, a black sword fastened to his hip. "Melkor, I don't know how you did it," he began, admiration evident in his silky voice. "It would have taken me years to perfect the design. But thanks to your foresight, tonight belongs to us."

The beast beneath him, the first dragon of Angbando, a dark creature with glowing red eyes and wings longer than the great pines of Doriath are tall, snarled and unfurled those same wings. Instantly Sauron found himself flying through the silver night, soaring across the western sea.

Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë had just reached the edge of a sleeping city. Fëanáro was leading his tired wife towards the fountain's ledge so they could both sit and enjoy the serenity of falling snow. Maitimo turned in his sleep in the outpost village of Haen. And Makalaurë's stomach dropped as a shadow crossed from the sea to the land. Melkor smiled.

Sauron grinned as Galfog, the beast beneath him, raced to the two trees. The dragon relaxed its jaw, steam rising from its open mouth, and produced a guttural noise, a noise which was followed by the roaring of dragon fire breaking the calm of the night. Telperion and Laurelin stood no chance at the flames engulfed the trees, but Galfog sped on, not waiting to witness the destruction.

As the silver night was replaced by darkness only relieved by the red glow of fire, the dragon belched once more over the fortress of Formenos. As flames erupted, the beast landed in the courtyard, and Sauron leapt off, unsheathing his black sword. The fire seemed not to burn the fallen Maiar as he strode into the structure. A fleeing servant was sliced down the back by his sword, but the dark lord did not even pause. He strode up the flaming stairs and into the room of the king.

Finwë whirled around, two glowing gems in his hands, from where he had leaning out the window. "Tsk. A jump like that. Could it kill one of the firstborn?"

"Who are you?"

"I am Mairon," the Maiar answered before lunging at the Noldo elf, his sword pierced the kings chest and he slumped forward. Sauron laughed, the flames reflecting off of his fair. With a shove he pulled the sword out of the king's torso, flicking the red blood off as the body crumpled to the ground. Bending gracefully, he picked up the two fallen Silmarils and strode to the open window, leaping out on and onto the back of Balfog.

 **Feed this writer with reviews or apple pie, though pumpkin pie will do as well. :)**


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